WERE YOU 



AND 



OTHER THINGS 



ELIZABETH • HILLS^'UmAN 




Class : 

Book 

Copyright ]^^. 



JU- 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSlIi 



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and 

©tjjer C!)tttgs 



BY 

i , ELIZABETH HILLS LYMAN 



We needs must love the highest when v^e see it. 

— Tennyson 



1808 SPRUCE STREET, PHILADELPHIA 
THE ALUMNA ASSOCIATION OF 
MISS HILLS' SCHOOL FOR GIRLS 



Copj/right, 1909, hy Elizabeth Hills Lyman 



ELECTEOTYPED AND PRINTED BY 

THOMAS Y. CEOWELL & CO. 

NEW YOEK 



'CLA251502 



TO 

MY GIRLS OF "1808" 

FOR WHOM THESE TALKS 
WERE PREPARED 



" I shall never forget/' said a college boy, " the 
way Professor X talked of Ethics — as if Ethics 
were his daughter." 

Le Baron Russell Briggs, 
Coinme7iceinent Address at Wellsley College 



CONTENTS 



If I Were You 


Page 1 


If You Were I 


16 


All in a Day 


28 


Foundations 


30 


Sleep, Exercise, Recreation 


36 


Dress 


41 


Truth 


51 


Corner Posts of a Square Character 


60 


The Fetter and the Freedom of Monotony 70 


Also to the Point 


84 


Counterfeits 


86 


Worry 


97 


Our Own 


102 


Sickness and Sorrow 


108 


Guests and Hospitality 


114 


Our Neighbors and Friends 


121 


Patriotism and Civic Duty 


128 


How to Serve 


134 


The Moral Faculty and Ideal 


140 


Respect, Reverence, Religion 


144 


Character, Power, Happiness 


153 



V 



BEFORE YOU READ FURTHER 



" What has become of the Gentle Reader ? " 
asks Mr. Samuel McChord Crothers. 
I, too, am eager to have that question an- 
swered. I want to meet her. For reasons ob- 
vious, the " Gentle Reader " must, in this 
particular instance, be spoken of as " her," 
not " him." 

This is not a book ; it is a dish of scraps, for 
the publishing of which some girls have had 
the temerity to make themselves respon- 
sible. Why they have been so daring is indi- 
cated by the following circular letter: 

1808 Spruce Street, Philadelphia, 
May 22, 1909. 
At the urgent request of the Alumnae, Mrs. 
Lyman has consented to allow the members 
of the Alumnag Association to publish some 
selections from her recent talks on Ethics. 
This book, of perhaps one hundred and fifty 
pages, will appear in the autumn and will 
sell for one dollar a copy; by mail, one dol- 
lar ten. With Mrs. Lyman's generous assent, 
vii 



BEFORE YOU READ FURTHER 

the entire profit will be devoted to the Col- 
lege Scholarship Fund of Miss Hills' 
School. 

Will you kindly let us know, by the detach- 
able coupon below, whether you wish a copy 
or copies reserved for you, as the Associa- 
tion desires to gain some idea of the size of 
the edition to be issued? 

Maegaret Hallock Steen, 
President of the Alumna Association of 
Miss Hills' School for Girls, 

The number of replies received, with the 
" detachable coupon " enclosed, decided the 
issuance of these selections. 
The conversational form of the talks has 
been retained, and the subject matter has 
been reproduced practically as it was used in 
the classroom. 

The " Gentle Reader," who is kind enough to 
peruse the following pages, will keep these 
informalities in mind, and, if in any way she 
considers the writer of the talks, will " be to 
her virtues very kind ; be to her faults a little 
blind." E. H. L. 

Philadelphia, September 15, 1909. 
viii 



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I can easier teach twenty what were good to he done, than to 
he one oj twenty to follow mine own teaching. 

— Shaxespeare. 




N this subject, anyone can 
talk to indefinite lengths or 
write a book as thick as 
the one-volumed Standard 
Dictionary. Over against 
this danger of prosiness is 
that of pretentiousness. There is little doubt 
that, after dehvering myself on what I would 
do if I were you, I shall come into a conscious- 
ness of virtue so great as to exempt me from 
obedience to any of my own precepts ! 
We Americans are very prone to the use of 
this phrase — " if I were you." We behave as 
if all the world should copy this one most 
illustrious nation! Is that your opinion? 
And do you think that your city has a mo- 
nopoly of the best ideas ? Some people accuse 
Bostonians of believing that their city is " the 
hub of the universe." 

When New York's great subway was opened, 
a Boston paper commented as follows, upon 

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the celebrations then being held in New York : 
" New York need not be so inflated. Its 
whole subway system was copied from ours 
here in Boston." 

A New York daily made reply. Having in 
mind the fact that Boston's subway, when 
compared with New York's, is as a Shet- 
land pony beside an elephant, the editor la- 
conically retorted, " Why so peevish, little 
one ! " 

So, if I were you, I should probably be per- 
fectly sure that m?/ city is the city, and its 
equipment the only really complete equip- 
ment in the world. 

Perhaps you have heard of the Yankee who 
was talking in flamboyant fashion with 
Sandy, the Scotchman. 

Says the Yankee, " I'll have you know, 
stranger, that I belong to Chicago." 
" 'Deed," returns Sandy, " an' wha'd hae 
thocht it? Frae the way ye've been speaking, 
I thought Chicago belonged to you ! " 
If what Hannah More says be true, " The 
world does not require so much to be in- 
formed, as to be reminded," then this word to 
the wise needs no emphasis, and you will not 
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fall into the habit of speaking of people who 
do not live within sight of your capitol dome, 
as " New Yorkers and that kind of peo- 
ple " — ^to recall a delightful epithet of Mr. 
Crothers. 

It is embarrassing to have old-fashioned 
ideas; it sometimes makes one conspicuous. 
I was brought up to think that " going shop- 
ping " had in it a serious purpose — namely, 
to buy something. Now I am told that wom- 
en " go shopping " — what a misnomer of 
a phrase that is, if what I hear be true ! — just 
to look at things, or — but perhaps you read 
in the Philadelphia Evening Telegraph a con- 
versation between Mr. and Mrs. Powers. Mr. 
Powers, sympathizing with his weary wife at 
dinner, remarks, " Do you mean to say that 
you shopped all day and didn't get any- 
thing? " 

To which Mrs. Powers, indicating thus that 
life's weariness has its compensations, re- 
plies, " Yes, but I know what everybody else 
got!" 

There seem to be other rewards in " going 
shopping," besides those that have to do with 
" knowing what everybody else got." 
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There's the bargain counter. Here you suc- 
ceed, after elbowing every other eager bar- 
gain hunter, in carrying home a piece of 
goods, almost snatched from another possible 
purchaser. Often you do not need the goods, 
and frequently you find, later, that you could 
have bought for the same money at the reg- 
ular counters ; but then you would have 
missed the muscular exertion put forth in 
getting through a crowd, and that would 
have been a pity! So, probably, if I were 
you, I, too, should hunt for bargains until 
I became so weary that I couldn't see the 
joke in any story, or the humor in one of my 
own remarks. 

I heard that a woman one day returned 
triumphant from " going shopping " in the 
way I have described. She showed to her hus- 
band her bargain — a half dozen handker- 
chiefs. " John," said she, " I got these, 'way 
below cost." 

" How could the merchant afford to sell his 
goods, 'way below cost.?" asked practical 
John. 

" Oh, you see it is because he sells so many of 
them ! " replied his wife. 
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Have you ever seen a woman behave in a 
trolley car as if she had a right to control 
the entire outfit? Have you ever seen her 
spread out her skirts and distribute her par- 
cels in a way that says, " I propose to hold 
as much of this space as suits my conveni- 
ence " ? 

You remind me that women are not the only 
offenders ; that men spread out their news- 
papers and hide behind them with a factitious 
absorption in the financial condition of their 
country. That may all be true; but we are 
not at this time discussing the foibles of men. 
Indeed, in justice to our brothers, I am bound 
to remark that I have never known one of 
them to fail to say " thank you," whenever 
seats have been given up to them by kind- 
hearted women ! 

One might write an essay for an hour's read- 
ing on " The Ethics of the Trolley Car." 
Suppose we are crowded, what of it? The 
one next is also crowded. Our neighbor pays 
five cents and is crowded. Shall we, having 
also paid just five cents, refuse to be crowded? 
Shall we frown, fume, fret, because we don't 
hke the trolley-car air on a humid, showery 
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day ? Our neighbor breathes the same air, and 
he pays just five cents to inhale our carbonic 
acid gas. If we travel by trolley, let us take 
a trolley mind and spirit with us. 
A writer in " The Contributors' Club " of the 
Atlantic Monthly says, " To indulge a coupe 
temper while tendering a five-cent fare is un- 
scientific, biologically ; caddish, socially ; and 
limiting, personally ; and, more potent to pre- 
vent than mere name-calling, is the concrete 
fact that it spoils all the fun." 
Let us by no means lose the joy that comes 
to one's own self in attending to " by-the- 
way courtesies." 

A certain fellow-countryman of ours must 
have learned in youth and in a home of gra- 
cious manners how to show such " by-the-way 
courtesies." 

In old St. Cuthbert's Churchyard, in Edin- 
burgh, I chanced upon a tablet bearing the 
following inscription : 

" In memory of Rufus Woodford, born at 
Torringford, Conn., 16th July, 1793. Grad- 
uated at Yale College, 1816. Visited Europe 
to continue his studies and restore his health, 
1823; died at Edinburgh, S4th November, 
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1823. His friends here who cheered his last 
hours and committed his remains to this grave 
knew and recognized him as ' The Amiable 
American Stranger.' " 

Such a tablet, set in its position so many 
years ago, comforts us somewhat in the face 
of the many criticisms made, and often 
rightly made, of the manners shown by Amer- 
icans abroad. 

" Civihty," said Lady Mary Wortley Mon- 
tagu, " costs nothing and buys everything." 
And it was Voltaire who wrote, " We cannot 
always oblige, but we can always speak 
obligingly." 

Once in a Norwegian hamlet, I looked in vain 
for a little shop that a fellow-traveler had 
recommended to me. A well-dressed, happy- 
faced young woman left her desk, in what 
looked to be a real-estate office, came out to 
the street, and said, " I speak English. Can 
I be of service to you ? " That was several 
years ago, and I should still be trying to 
recover from my shock of surprise, were it 
not that the same sort of gracious, simple 
courtesy was again and again extended dur- 
ing our summer in Scandinavia. 
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A friend recently wrote concerning her first 
visit to England: 

" We have had much kindness from officials 
and people in general, which surprises me. 
The Devon landlady laid herself out to get us 
Devonshire dishes — clotted cream and all the 
rest. Then we remember the bookkeeper who 
stood in the street and waved frantically when 
we girls had reached the house where he 
thought we might find lodgings ; another man 
walked a block to show us the post office; a 
verger smilingly unlocked for us a second 
time the entrance to the choir in Salisbury 
Cathedral ; at Wells, the driver held the train, 
watch in hand, when he saw us coming across 
the fields. At Bath, the tram conductor said 
in a brotherly way, * I wouldn't get on, if I 
were you. It's not much farther to walk than 
from any place where we can take you.' All 
these are trifles, but they do show such 
friendly ways of doing things." 
Isn't it wonderful how a blank wall of solid 
loneliness proves after all to be porous? We 
are alone and weary in a strange city. Sud- 
denly some one gives us a hft. The milk of 
human kindness percolates through city 
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walls, and, behold! what? Why — butter and 
cheese for our sustenance ! 
Few people will remember whether or not you 
took honors in school or college. Scores of 
people will remember that you had the gift 
of thoughtfulness ; that you did, now and 
then, a gentle deed of gracious service; that 
you did not forget the beautiful courtesies of 
every day — those courtesies that cost so lit- 
tle yet mean so much. 

Again, if I were you and were what you and I 
ought to be, I would try to avoid thinking 
myself always right, and I would sometimes 
yield to another's opinion and give up my 
way — give up gracefully if I could, but any 
way give up. 

You remember Stevenson makes one of his 
characters say, " Be soople, Davie, in things 
immaterial." 

Here we are face to face with a kind of 
" soopleness " — I suppose I must spell it 
" suppleness " — which is weakness, or with a 
kind of suppleness which is condescension, as 
opposed to the suppleness which Paul had in 
mind when he said, " I am made all things to 
all men." 

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The suppleness that is weakness agrees at 
once with every idea advanced by another, 
regardless of the rightness or the wrongness, 
the wisdom or the unwisdom of the sugges- 
tion. 

Some one says, " You should have worn your 
shade hat to-day." You say, " Yes, cer- 
tainly, I should have done so." All the time 
you know that you wore the other hat be- 
cause you were going later to pay a visit 
where the shade hat would have been out of 
place. Simple laziness, or lack of moral grit, 
a kind of cowardice, makes you seem to agree 
with your acquaintance, rather than to take 
the trouble to defend your selection of this 
hat for to-day's wearing. Anybody can be 
supple in that way; it is cowardly, and it 
takes no courage to be a coward. 
The suppleness that is condescension agrees 
with an opponent, or an inferior, for the mo- 
ment, but with an air of patronage that is 
offensive. For example: you state that the 
battle of Hastings took place in 1060. Some 
one, less versed in general knowledge per- 
haps than you are, but with an exasperat- 
ingly correct memory for dates, says, " The 
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date of the Norman Conquest was 1066." 
With a semi-irritable manner, you reply, " Of 
course, it is possible that you may be 
right." 

Pray tell me, my friend, why you could not 
have said frankly, " Probably you are right. 
I'm never quite sure of my dates." 
Or the case may be reversed. Your acquaint- 
ance gives an incorrect date. You pick up the 
statement, and say, " If you will take pains 
to inform yourself, you will find the date 
is 1066." 

Couldn't you have corrected that error with- 
out making your neighbor uncomfortable? 
We quote our Stevenson again : " Condescen- 
sion is an excellent thing, but it is strange 
how one-sided the pleasure of it is ! " 
Haven't you been often vexed by having some 
one interrupt your story by saying, " Excuse 
me, but it was on Tuesday, not on Wednes- 
day, that you made that call." So again we 
repeat, " Be soople, Davie, in things imma- 
terial." 

We shall agree that a part of our adjustment 
to the Hves and to the peculiarities of other 
people is a matter of tact. 

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Our friend, Mr. Crothers, says, " What we 
call tact is the ability to find, before it is too 
late, what it is that our friends do not desire 
to learn from us. It is the art of withhold- 
ing, on proper occasions, information which 
we are quite sure would be good for 
them." 

Most of us have a sense of resentment when 
we discern in the manner of any one a de- 
liberate purpose " to do us good." We say : 
" Go to, now ! I won't be done good to ! " 
Marcus Aurelius, as far back as the second 
century, gives us this maxim : " Convert oth- 
ers if you can ; if not, remember that the 
virtue of charity was given you for just this 
use." 

Perhaps we are more prone to take on " the 
virtue of charity," and to feel that our mar- 
tyr-Hke patience with our weak and erring 
sisters is greatly to be commended, than we 
are to remember how many like opportunities 
we offer to these same associates to be patient 
with our failings — failings which are quite as 
annoying to our " weak and erring sisters " 
as their weaknesses are to us. 
This talk about tact reminds me to ask if you 
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use what jou denominate raillery, but what is 
really ridicule? 

A biographer of Madame de Stael says of 
her, " In a country where raillery is so much 
to be dreaded, ridicule found it difficult to 
reach her. She rose above the region in which 
it displays itself." 

A Swedish friend at one time said to her: 
" Whatever you may say, witty people com- 
mit a great many faults." 
Madame de Stael answered, " That is very 
true, but, unfortunately, stupid persons do 
the same, though nobody thinks it worth while 
to notice them." 

We should differentiate between a harmless 
jesting now and again — a turn that enlivens 
intercourse and never hurts — and that kind 
of speech which concerns itself with a semi- 
ridicule of all things. Pope speaks of one 
" whose whole Hfe long was sacred to ridi- 
cule." I hope that Shakespeare did not tell 
all the truth in saying : " When the age is in, 
the wit is out " ; for we should be sorry to 
beheve that, as we grow older, we fail to 
appreciate real humor; but perhaps we need 
to guard ourselves a bit and note the kind 
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of things that amuse us, while, at the same 
time, we observe the effect that our " bright " 
remarks have on those with whom we are 
talking. 

Goethe says, " There is nothing in which peo- 
ple betray their character more than in what 
they find to laugh at." 

Possibly you defend your teasing habit and 
say, " Oh, she knows I am jesting! It is all 
fun ; she doesn't care ! " That may sometimes 
be true; it may often be true; but most of 
us have seen times and known moods when, 
if we had spoken our real feeling, we should 
have said, "Please don't! I just can't bear 
being teased to-day ! " 

But, aside from the question of a possible 
unconscious hurting of others' feelings, there 
is another reason why the habit of teasing, 
hectoring, ironical speaking, and all the rest 
of that ilk needs guarding. The adoption of 
that kind of speech results insidiously in a 
growing bondage to it; the habit of con- 
stantly speaking in any one way soon becomes 
fixed, and what at first was refreshingly 
piquant, by and by becomes wearisomely un- 
welcome. The man or woman who is always 
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punning, or always making tart rejoinders 
is by and by discounted, or even disliked; 
speech is robbed of sincerity, and the speaker 
is thought to be " smart," or thought to be 
" cold-blooded." Therefore, if I were you, 
and, as I repeat, were what I ought to be, 
I would watch myself lest I fall into that 
quagmire. 

" Forgive you? — 0, of course, dear, 
A dozen times a week! 
We women were created 

Forgiveness hut to speak. 
You'd die before you'd hurt me 

Intentionally? . . . True, 
But it is not, dearest, 

The thing you mean to do — 
IV s what you do unthinking 

That makes the quick tear start; 
The tear may he forgotten. 

But the hurt stays in the heart; 
And though I may forgive you 

A dozen times a day, 
Yet each forgiveness wears, dear, 

A little love away; 
And one day you'll he grieving 

And chiding me, no doubt. 
Because so much forgiving 
Has worn a great love out,'* 
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Faithful are the wounds of a Jriend. 

— The Book of Proverbs. 




AN we get a fresher and 
less hackneyed accent upon 
the idea of our fancied ex- 
change of identities, by re- 
versing our previous title, 
and, instead of saying " If 
I Were You," say "If You Were I"? At 
all events, let us try the experiment. 
First of all, think of what stacks of sage 
advice you would, at this moment, be giving 
to yourselves or to others like you ! 
For example: If you were I, would you be 
magnifying trifles? Possibly you would, and 
possibly I am ; but, if you were I, you would 
run that risk for the sake of practical service 
to the girl friend whom you would be ad- 
dressing. 

If you were I, I am certain that you would 
urge upon me the cultivation of the art of 
conversation, but would tell me not to con- 
strue this as a call to make conversation "bril- 
liant." Surely to do that would be fatal to 
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good manners, since one would probably fall 
either into monologue, or into the custom of 
saying good things at another's expense. If, 
in time, my conversation should turn out to 
be brilliant, that will be my good fortune. A 
vast deal of selfishness is displayed in this 
matter of conversation. If I would be an 
agreeable talker, I must aim to draw out 
what others know, and to listen to it, as well 
as to say easily and unpretentiously myself 
whatever is of general interest. The burden 
of conversation belongs to one as much as to 
another, and I have no right to expect that 
the subject of talk shall be chosen to suit my 
taste, and that others will enjoy listening to 
what I enjoy saying. To almost any conver- 
sation one may add something, though it be 
only a question. Pointless questions are dis- 
agreeable, but, to lively talk, intelligent ques- 
tions are as necessary as information. When 
I go to a dinner, I must take with me the 
suggestion once made by a good talker: 
" Talk as many minutes as you can get, but, 
for your life, don't talk more than one min- 
ute at a time ! " 

So, in the reverse case, if you were I, you 
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would tell me not to interrupt another's 
speech. 

A woman, who shines as a theatrical star, 
says, " Only on the stage am I allowed to 
complete my sentences ; at all other times, the 
people with whom I try to converse break in 
and finish them for me ! " 
I asked this lady if the people who " break 
in " are always men! 

If you were in my place, wouldn't you teach 
young people to rise when addressed by an 
older person, and to remain standing until 
the older person was seated or had moved 
away ? 

If you were I, it is absolutely certain you 
would tell me that it is ill-bred to talk behind 
one's hand. You would tell me that a remark 
which demands that kind of privacy should be 
made only in private. 

A woman once gave a severe reproof to a 
young girl who constantly whispered during 
an address, the rendering of a musical selec- 
tion, and even during a sermon. " My child, 
it is cheap ! " was what she said. 
Years later, this girl returned and said : " I 
have never forgotten that reproof ; it stayed 
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better, and it made a greater impression upon 
me than it would have done had you merely 
said that it was impolite. I shall not soon 
forget the day when you talked to us about 
your right to listen to music without the 
diversion of ' Oh, isn't it fine ! ' and the time- 
keeping tap of the foot in the seat behind 
you." 

If you were I, you would tell me not to 
" fidget " — not to play with my teaspoon or 
my fork or my napkin-ring at table; not 
to finger my watch-chain, my rings, my 
pencil ; not to " fuss " with my collar, my 
hair, my veil. You would tell me not to pull 
on my overshoes and reach for my umbrella 
during the last stanza of the last hymn of 
the church service. Possibly you might have 
to remind me that others besides myself have 
rights on the pavement, and that it is 
selfish for me to stand in the middle of the 
sidewalk to hold conversations with my 
friends. 

I hope that, if you were I, you would help 
me to see straight in moral littles. 
I heard a young woman, recently married, 
say, " I shall accept that invitation from 
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Mrs. Smith, if one that I am hoping for 
from Mrs. Brown does not come ; but I shall 
wait until the last minute to decide ! " 
Pray, what right had she to see so crookedly ? 
I asked the young woman if that method 
would please her, if she were the lady giving 
the luncheon. She didn't tell me. 
If you were my mother and I were your 
daughter, would you allow me to preface 
my requests to you with, " Now, mother, 
hsten ! " 

I bethink me of another matter. Why should 
we take it for granted that, of course, our 
relatives understand our having had a good 
time while visiting them, and therefore do 
not need to be told of it? Why should we 
fail to send the love-word of remembrance, 
excusing ourselves for half carelessness, half 
indifference, by saying, " Oh, my sister un- 
derstands, and I am so busy ! " Or, " Mary 
is like one of the family ; she does not expect 
a note after my visit ! " 

Because " Sister " is my own, and because 
" Mary is like one of the family," I must be 
especially careful to preserve gracious cour- 
tesies. It is so easy, so very easy to let things 
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be taken for granted in the immediate circle 
of the home friends ! 

If you were I, perhaps you would ask me 
these questions: 

Have you a habit of pitying yourself? Do 
you say, " If my circumstances had been dif- 
ferent, I could have amounted to some- 
thing?" 

If I could not answer, you would have a right 
to tell me frankly that, if I do not amount 
to anything where I am, doubtless I should do 
no better anywhere else. 

It is an old Greek saying: "We judge our- 
selves by what we feel capable of doing; the 
world judges us by what we have already 
done." And it was Lord Macaulay who once 
wrote, " Those are most to be envied who 
soonest learn to expect nothing for which 
they have not worked hard, and who never 
acquire the habit of pitying themselves over 
much, even if in after life, they happen to 
work in vain." 

We are often urged to be cheerful, and that 
is well; but perhaps you have sometimes met 
people who are monotonously gay. A small 
boy, when only five years of age, said of his 
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very chatty, very gay minister, " Mother, I 
think Dr. Blank is too cheerful ! " 
So, if you were I, you would tell me not to 
bring my cheer into contempt by failing in 
perspective. Failure in this field makes one 
do untactful things and causes one to seem 
either frivolous or unsympathetic. 
I recall a young woman who, when her friend 
tore her best dress badly, exclaimed, " Thank 
heaven, we have souls above torn gowns ! " 
This would have done very well, if it had 
been her own gown ; but to the young 
woman's friend, it seemed to indicate hard- 
hearted indifference. We may ourselves have 
risen superior to torn raiment and broken 
china ; but we may still have to guard against 
taking a position upon a terrace of self- 
righteousness, where, wrapping our cloaks 
about us, we thank God that we are not as 
other women are ! 

While we criticize ourselves with sternness, we 
must follow the advice of Matthew Prior and, 
in dealing with another. 

Be to her virtues very kind; 
Be to her faults a little blind. 
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Does there lurk in our minds a certain relish 
of seeing one whom we dislike brought into 
a scene where he will surely receive criticism ? 
We may not acknowledge, even to our own 
minds, that we enjoy another's discomfiture, 
but the low-down beast of a thought may be 
there and may need the hand and the will to 
throttle it. 

Napoleon Bonaparte once said, " If I had a 
choice, either of doing a noble action my- 
self, or of inducing my adversary to do a 
mean one, I would not hesitate to prefer the 
debasement of my enemy." 
How easily we give houseroom to a kind of 
envy ! We have a notion that " praise of an- 
other is dispraise of ourselves." We listen 
to some eulogy of our neighbor. Perhaps it 
is not all just praise; but is it our love of 
truth that causes us to hesitate about join- 
ing in the general acclaim? Is it not rather 
a shadow from the wing of the passing bird 
of jealousy which prompts us to some form 
of dissent, possibly to a silence which speaks 
louder than words.? 

Alexander Pope knew a thing or two about 
human nature when he wrote: 
[23] 



31f 31 Wm pm 



Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer. 
And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; 
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike. 
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike. 

Pray, don't let us deceive ourselves into 
thinking it is love of righteousness that 
makes us shrug our shoulders or look 
a thought that we are too cowardly 
to voice. 

If you were I, you would forbid my appropri- 
ating to myself another's story, happening, 
or idea, without giving credit to the real 
author. 

It was a certain John Dennis who is said to 
have invented for his tragedy the sort of 
thunder used to-day in the theater. Dennis's 
play was acted but a short time ; a few nights 
later, however, Mr. Dennis heard his own 
thunder made use of at a representation of 
" Macbeth." He rose in a violent passion 
and exclaimed that it was his thunder. 
" See," said he, " how the rascals use me ! 
They will not let my play run, and yet they 
steal my thunder ! " 

In line with this suggestion about acknowl- 
[24] 



.#J 



%l gou Wtn 31 



edging another's " thunder," I am reminded 
to saj that, if jou were I, you would tell 
me to keep out of debt. It isn't pleasant to 
be in debt. A debt which one is unable to pay 
was once defined by a small friend of mine as 
" What you've got when you haven't got so 
much as if you just hadn't nothin'." 
Let us pay the laundry woman when the 
clothes are returned, and the sewing woman 
every Saturday night. Carelessness and 
thoughtlessness here often cause real depriva- 
tion " over Sunday." 

If you were I, I fancy you would tell me that 
half my anxieties would disappear if I would 
go out into the sunshine. 

Somewhere I read the story of a little lame 
boy who was sitting on a bridge watching 
his companions at their play in a dark 
shadow under the bridge. He was asked to 
come down to play with the others. " No, I 
can't leave," was his reply. " Why not.? " the 
boys inquired. " I am soaking-in sunshine, 
so I can laugh when it rains," was the boy's 
wise answer. 

Therefore, if you were I, and I were you, and 

both were what we should be, we would advise 

[25] 



91f 91 Wtvt pou 



each other to " soak-in sunshine," so as to 
laugh when it rains. 

Another aspect of this subject of putting 
one's self in another's place has to do with 
our own feeling, when others use towards us 
a half-sneering manner. 

When Thomas Arnold was headmaster at 
Rugby, he wrote to a former very sensitive 
pupil of his at Oxford : " It is an immense 
blessing to be perfectly callous to ridicule; 
or, which comes to the same thing, to be 
conscious thoroughly that what we have in 
us of noble and delicate is not ridiculous to 
any but fools, and that, if fools will laugh, 
wise men will do well to let them." 
If we can get past the place where we feel 
*' sensitive," where, with consciences void of 
offense before God, we can smile at sneers, 
we shall have gone a long way toward what 
I like to name the Gulf Stream of Peace. We 
shall be pitiful of the sneerer, not indignant 
at him ; for we do not know what fiery torch 
of injustice has scorched our neighbor's soul ; 
nor, indeed, do we know to what we ourselves 
may fall by to-morrow's sun. 
What I am and what you are is not a matter 
[26] 



3If gou Wtvt 31 



of chance. Let William Ernest Henley speak 
for us: 

Out of the night that covers me, 
Black as the pit from pole to pole, 

I thank whatever gods may he 
For my unconquerable soul. 

. In the fell clutch of circumstance 

I have not winced nor cried aloud. 
Under the hludgeonings of chance 
My head is bloody, but unbowed. 

Beyond this place of wrath and tears 
Looms but the horror of the shade; 

And yet the menace of the years 
Finds, and shall 'find, me unafraid. 

It matters not how strait the gate. 

How charged with punishments the scroll, 

I am the master of my fate: 
I am the captain of my soul. 



[27] 



ail in a ?^at 



Morning: Two Kinds of Helpers 




OU know them both. One 
says, " I am always glad 
to help when I can." This 
kind gives up the chair she 
likes best ; she makes sure 
that her friend is provided 
with a good light; she does the errand she 
would rather not do ; and for these things she 
often has no reward other than the approval 
of her own conscience. 

The other kind says, in a general, indefinite 
way, " Oh, yes, indeed ! I am always glad to 
help when I can ! " But, when asked to aid 
in any particular service, she begins at once 
to make excuse : " I can't do this very well, 
for I am just leaving for the country." Or, 
when asked to read " Macbeth," she re- 
marks, " I would rather read * Hamlet ' than 
' Macbeth,' so I think we will decide upon 
'Hamlet'!" 

This kind of girl is always " Oh, yes, in- 
deed ! " willing to help others, if it does not 
[28] 



au in a ^av 



involve any personal sacrifice of her own 
pleasure. Which kind of girl are you? 

Noon: One-Sidedness 
What right have you to keep another person 
waiting for you? Why are you late? 
An apologetic person writes concerning keep- 
ing people waiting : " It arises from a praise- 
worthy dislike of wasting time. If I am a 
very little late for an appointment, the other 
person is always there; and thus no time is 
lost — off we go together at once ! " 

Night: Pick it Up and Set it Straight 
Do you ever find things crooked and leave 
them so ? Do you ever say, " It isn't my 
business to adjust other people's disorder?" 
Why not try to balance some of your own 
sins of omission by picking up a scrap here 
and there, and by adjusting chairs and 
papers left out of place by some one else? 
A young girl writes, " I have been greatly 
helped by a little motto that you once gave 
to us girls : Pick it up and set it straight. 
If I ever pass a scrap of waste paper in the 
hall, or walk over a turned-up rug, my con- 
science bothers me until I go back." 
[29] 



fountiattonsj 



That those things which cannot be shaken may remain. 
— The Book of Hebrews. 




FANCY you are saying, 
" Ethics may be important, 
but it is the driest and 
stupidest subject in all 
this otherwise interesting 
world!" 

Without doubt you are right in your idea; 
all things that have to do with foundations 
are stupid, until we come to applications. 
As we make application of ethical principles 
to eating and sleeping, to dressing and danc- 
ing, to family and friends, to manners and 
morals, to clubs and culture, to civics and 
charities, we shall perhaps find that the in- 
terest increases. 

Ethical standards and the desire to persist in 
maintaining them are matters of evolution; 
they are a growth ; they come not by accident. 
The ethical life " will be judged, not by its 
accomplishment, but by its growth; not by 
its achievements, but by its ideals," is the way 
one writer states the case. 
[30] 



!fo«nDationji 



Do' you remember that the Prodigal Son was 
said to " come to himself " ? The best self 
is the true self ; and it is this " finding of 
one's self " that is the province of all ethical 
investigation and study. 

In all ethics, the strongest, the biggest, the 
most important foundation principle of all- 
is that which we know as will, the power we 
have over our own actions. 
A small boy once defined will as " something 
in here that says * I won't ! ' " 
Ian Maclaren says, " Behind words lie deeds ; 
behind deeds, qualities ; behind qualities, in- 
tention: and the distinction between one man 
and another is the innermost ambition and 
the chosen attitude of the soul." 
Our study of Ethics should make us humble 
— not arrogant, not fault-finding. Perhaps 
we shall sometimes need to recall Faber's wise 
word : " No one is so blind to his own faults 
as a man who has the habit of detecting the 
faults of others." 

The kingliest morality has to do with service 
rendered for the benefit of others, without 
stipulation and without reward — relief of dis- 
tress, promotion of good. No personal ad- 
[31] 



gif 3! wm Pou 



vancement prompted William Lloyd Garrison 
to put forth those efforts for the slave, which 
resulted in Garrison's own semi-martyrdom. 
No civil law caused the Good Samaritan to 
render aid to the man who fell among 
thieves. 

It demands will to do the right and the fine 
and the unselfish. 

It is related that Emile Zola gave up tobacco 
in his young days, when it was a question of 
his spending four cents a day more on him- 
self, or of allowing his mother the where- 
withal to buy an extra loaf of bread. 
Again we repeat the thought that we must 
purpose to do; according to our purposing 
shall be our achieving. 

I remember reading that Charles Kingsley 
on his twenty-second birthday wrote, " I 
have been for the last hour on the seashore, 
not dreaming, but thinking deeply and 
strongly, and forming determinations which 
are to affect my destiny through time and 
eternity. Before the sleeping earth and the 
sleeping sea and stars, I have devoted myself 
to the Highest — a vow never (if He gives me 
the faith I pray for) to be recalled." 
[32] 



fountiatton^ 



So again we come face to face with purpose, 
determination, will. 

Let me give you a fine sentence from Pro- 
fessor Peabody of Harvard : " The reason is 
like the sails of a ship, which give momentum 
and hfe; the feelings are the waves, thrown 
tumultuously on either side; but the rudder, 
which gives direction and control to life, is 
the will." 

" And so," adds Professor Peabody, " there 
must be a dedication of the will to good- 
ness." 

When this is really done, we shall so act that 
'* each to-morrow finds us further than to- 
day." 

Carlyle tells us, " No man becomes a saint in 
his sleep." And it is a cotemporary who re- 
marks, " Anybody can be good at a sprint ; 
but to keep on being good — that is what 
troubles us." 

Is there anything ethical in connection with 
coffee and beefsteak and potatoes? Perhaps 
we shall admit that these things have ethical 
significance so far as will has to do with 
them. 

We might spend much time in discussing 
[33] 



9If 91 Wm pm 



the fact that people have been known to 
continue the use of foods that, by experi- 
ment, have proved to be for them injurious 
— oysters, tomatoes, strawberries, pastry, 
candies. 

How far can general rules be applied in this 
field? How far may they be modified by the 
personal peculiarities of each individual's con- 
stitution or preference? How far should 
hereditary predisposition be admitted? 
We are to beware lest we try to make all 
people think our way. We can easily lay 
down laws by which others should be gov- 
erned. 

Here are some points for private meditation : 
Rapidity of eating ; mastication ; accommo- 
dating one's " pace " to that of others ; dain- 
tiness as opposed to fastidiousness. 
Food and drink are aids to self-respect or 
they are factors in degradation ; hence their 
ethical significance. 

Washington Irving once gave some good ad- 
vice for grumblers : " When I can't get a 
dinner to suit my appetite, I try to get an 
appetite to suit my dinner." 
" Choose to punish your appetites," says 
[34] 



!founDation0 



Epictetus, " rather than to be punished by 
them." 

In this question of food and drink, as in 
all other questions of duty, we should de- 
termine finally to be governed by what we 
learn, through hard experience perhaps, to 
be our individual law. 

All these points are practical applications of 
one general principle. In Ethics the great 
consideration is to decide by judgment and 
by will, not by impulse. This is the ultimate 
foundation. 



[33] 



^leep, txtui^z, Mcvtation 

Sleep! it is a gentle thing 
Beloved from pole to pole. 

— Coleridge. 

Better to hunt in fields for health unhoiMght, 
Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught. 
The wise for cure on exercise depend; 
God never made his work for man to mend. 

— Dryden. 

There should be nothing so much a man's business as his 
amusements. 

— Stevenson. 



m P 



plainer 



HE key-word for our sub- 
ject is persistency, that 
moral quality which is des- 
ignated by the clergy as 
" the grace of continu- 
ance," but which is spoken 

folk as stick-to-it-a-tive- 



of by 

ness. 

I offer only a suggestive outline for each one 

of you to work out for herself. 



Sleep: 

Value of muscular relaxation; the art of 

*' letting go " the nervous tension ; number 

of hours of sleep required ; " beauty sleep " 

[36] 



^leep, txtui^Zt Recreation 

before midnight; bathing, hght gymnastics, 
" nibbling a cracker," ventilation, quantity 
of bedding — as factors in preparing to sleep ; 
methods of inducing sleep — " Madeline asleep 
in lap of legends old " ; "a clear conscience 
is a good pillow." 

" Talking it out " late at night is fatal to 
good sleep ; mental obj ects become distorted 
— they fall into wrong perspective and false 
proportion ; the discussion is therefore value- 
less; nervous excitement is increased; some 
one cries herself to sleep, and the next day 
that same some one wakes up cross and is 
accused of " getting out on the wrong side 
of the bed." 

Exercise and Recreation: 
" Sit straight, girls ! Sit well back in the 
chair. Head up. Chest out. Press the neck 
back until you feel the collar. Inhale. Hold 
the breath steady and fling the arms far back, 
while you listen to Longfellow's advice." 
Do these orders sound famihar to you? 

If thou art worn and hard beset 
With sorrows that thou would'st forget, 
[37] 



3if 91 Wttz i^ou 



// thou would'st read a lesson that will keep 
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, 
Go to the woods and hills. 

" Now you may exhale. Try it again, while 
I repeat the same lines more slowly." 
Such an exercise, continued with persistency 
for ten minutes at morning and at evening, 
with wide-opened windows, or out of doors, 
will soon become to you a recreation exercise 
that you will wish to continue for fun, as well 
as for health. 

Points for Consideration: 
Working off stored-up energy — enough ex- 
ercise versus too much; injurious effect of 
too-extended summer tramps after months of 
little walking; the best time for exercise — ■ 
" Work first, then rest," says Ruskin ; sweep- 
ing, dusting, washing dishes, raking the 
gravel, running a lawn mower, versus pre- 
scribed gymnastics only; every-night-late 
dancing, miscalled " recreation " — better 
called " dissipation " ; recreation should re- 
create. 

We speak of recreation as a duty, an ethical 

demand ; we care to maintain health and good 

[38 1 



^leep, (Ejcewijse, Recreation 

spirits for love's sake. You remember how 
Tennyson makes this clear in " Maud " : 

But if I be dear to some one else, 

Then I should he to myself more dear. 
Shall I not take care of all that I think, 
Yea, ev'n of wretched meat and drink, 
If I be dear, 
If I be dear to some one else? 

William De Witt Hyde names cheerfulness as 
the virtue, and energy as the reward of ex- 
ercise and recreation ; he names excitement 
as the temptation to be guarded against, 
morbidness as the vice of defect, frivolity 
as the vice of excess, and debility as the 
penalty. 

Emerson says, " Health is the first wealth." 
Some one, I do not know the author, writes 
a doggerel about how to keep health : 

" Take the open air. 
The more you take the better; 

Follow Nature's laws 
To the very letter; 

Let the doctors go 
To the Bay of Biscay; 
Let alone the gin, 
[S9] 



91f 31 ^ete gou 



T/ie brandy and the whisky; 

Freely exercise, 
Keep your spirits cheerful; 

Let no dread of sickness 
Make you even fearful; 

Eat the simplest food, 
Drink the pure, cold water; 

Then you will be well. 
Or, at least, you 'oughter."' 



[40] 



^tm 



Talk to me oj pins and feathers and ladies. 

— Ben Jonson. 




HIS subject, like the col- 
ored preacher's sermon, is 
to be considered under two 
heads : First, " What am in 
de tex'." Second, " What 
am not in de tex'." I shall 
not indicate the divisions. To us women, 
dress somehow is an interesting subject; 
then, too, it is a subject we feel we know some- 
thing about. 

In the early part of the eighteenth century, 
Henry Fielding composed a chapter entitled 
" An Essay to prove that an author will write 
better for having some knowledge of the 
subject on which he treats." 
What we are to think about and discuss is 
not so much dress in itself, as the relation 
which dress bears to Ethics, or, in other 
words, to moral principle and to the develop- 
ment of character. 

May I use discrimination, or choice, as a sort 

of key-word for this talk.^^ Choice is a part 

[41] 



%t 31 ^ere pm 



of will, and I purpose noting for you ten 
points showing the relation of dress to choice, 
therefore to Ethics ; for let us not forget, 
but emphasize at the very front of our dis- 
cussion, that over-elaboration in dress is as 
truly an offense against good taste, as is 
positive untidiness. 

You will remember that Thomas Carlyle, in 
the opening passage to " Sartor Resartus," 
says, " It might strike the reflective mind 
with some surprise that hitherto little or 
nothing of a fundamental character, whether 
in the way of Philosophy or History, has 
been written on the subject of Clothes." 
Now what we are to discuss is that part of 
the " Philosophy of Clothes " which relates 
to moral impressions and influences. 
Every intentional muscular act starts with 
an idea, then follows choice ; therefore the act 
is first ideational, then discriminative, finally 
muscular. I lay my hand on this or that; 
it is by an act of will; but I also choose 
where to lay it ; I discriminate between grasp- 
ing your hand, and boxing your ears. 
Holding now the idea of discrimination in 
mind, we shall see that all really earnest con- 
[42] 



sideration of dress in its relation to morals 
involves especially the act of choosing; and 
perhaps there is no one field of life where 
the ability to discriminate quickly and ap- 
propriately can be, or is, so cultivated as 
in choosing what to wear, when to wear it, 
how long to wear it, and when to give it 
away. 

In presenting ten practical points for con- 
sideration, I offer to you an opportunity to 
" talk back," if you will. My purpose is to 
show that at each of these points the act of 
choosing is involved, and that they are there- 
fore worthy of ethical emphasis. 

Point 1 — New clothes versus old clothes. 
Pope, in his " Essay on Criticism," says : 

" Be not the first by whom the new is tried, 
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside." 

It was Lady INIary Wortley Montagu who 
gave as advice, " Be plain in dress and sober 
in your diet," which rouses our curiosity to 
know just how plain and sober Lady Mary 
herself was ! 

When do you feel better dressed in old clothes 
[4S] 



91f 91 ^ere pou 



than in new? In what way may new clothes 
promote dignity of carriage? How can you 
maintain " unconsciousness " as to clothes, 
and so avoid " self-consciousness " ? 

Point 2 — Fitting or misfitting. 
It requires will — not obstinacy, but firmness 
— to secure a good fit. 

Which is in better taste — well-fitted, coarse 
clothing, or poorly fitted, fine clothing? 
I pass on to you the advice given by a well- 
dressed, middle-aged woman of limited in- 
come : " Get a second-class cloth, if you must ; 
but have it made up by a first-class dress- 
maker," she said to a young girl who came 
for counsel. 

Point 3 — Choice of colors — heauty, 
" Ez we ain't endowed by Providence with 
feathers, thar ain't no use in makin' a sin 
out'n hevin' the bes' clothes what we kin 
git," says Charles Egbert Craddock. 
I heard a woman, whose artist soul was hurt 
by inharmonies in dress, exclaim, " If you 
don't know what is becoming to you, pray 
hold no false pride, but ask a friend whose 
[ 44 ] 



taste is to be relied upon, even though she 
may not have half your intellect. It is an 
offense past being forgiven for you to wear 
ugly things, when beautiful things may be 
had for the same money." 
Perhaps we shall not put it so strongly ; but 
I fancy we shall agree that, to those who 
love us, we owe as much attractiveness as a 
reasonable amount of thought and effort and 
expense can secure; and, furthermore, that 
we owe it to the world at large to reduce 
the sum total of ugliness and to increase the 
sum total of beauty. 

Point 4 — Adaptation to time and place, 
I would wish to register myself as emphasiz- 
ing, all the way along, the fact that there is 
a beauty in plain dress, if it is fitted to the 
work we are engaged in at the time. Indeed, 
dress for your work is, I fancy, very nearly 
the absolute and final rule in this matter of 
costume. 

What is the temptation in giving over-much 
thought to the adaptation of dress to sur- 
roundings? Possibly vanity; a striving to 
outdress another ; a but half -recognized inner 
[45] 



3!f 9i Wtvt pm 



joy when our clothes are " just right," 
and another's are a little off from "just 
right." 

Point 5 — Simplicity versus ostentation. 
" There's no accounting for tastes ! " we say 
in our superior way. " She calls that sim- 
plicity ! " 

" Half the secret of human intercourse," says 
Leigh Hunt, " is to make allowance for each 
other." So, if people do not think our way, 
we " make allowance " for them. 

Now, who shall arbitrate, 
Ten men love what I hate, 
Shun what I follow, slight what I receive: 
Ten, who in ears and eyes 
Match me: we all surmise, 
They, this thing, and I, that: whom shall my soul 
believe? 

— Browning. 

Point 6 — Neatness versus slovenliness, 
William De Witt Hyde, in his little book, en- 
titled " Practical Ethics," says some wise 
words on this topic: 

" No one is so poor that he cannot afford 

to be neat. No one is so rich that he can 

[46] 



afford to be slovenly. The clothes we wear 
express the standing choices of our will ; and, 
as clothes come closer to our bodies than, 
anything else, they stand as the most im- 
mediate and obvious expression of our 
mind." 

We shall^ therefore, be in accord in ruling 
out of court soiled ruchings, shabby gloves, 
frayed and grimy white skirts, and dusty 
shoes. We shall agree that the wearing of 
ragged waists, " which no one will notice if 
I keep my arms down," the wearing of skirts 
and waists that continually show their dislike 
of keeping company, that frowsy hair, and 
a score of other might-be-named disorderli- 
nesses are positively unmoral in their in- 
fluence. 

Point 7 — Fastidiousness, 
We noted that carelessness in regard to dress 
tends to the lowering of one's standard of 
fineness, and indicates that a woman is too 
weak to make her surroundings express her 
personality ; she is under " the tyranny of 
things." 

We may also note that super-care, which we 
[47] 



gif % wm pou 



call fastidiousness, is almost as greatly to 
be deplored as is slovenliness. We have a 
feeling of contempt for the man who arranges 
his necktie beautifully " because he gives his 
whole mind to it," and for the woman who 
anticipates social ostracism because she is 
unable to procure gloves of the exact shade 
of her gown. 

Point 8 — Dressing for dvrmer. 
Will you answer for yourselves these ques- 
tions ^ 

Why is dressing for dinner, when there are 
no guests, really of value? 
Does it give to the hour of the evening meal 
an added touch of leisure and of charm? 
How can I reconcile such a custom with 
the demands of imperative and immediate 
work? 

Our answers must be individual, and, if we 
have reached a conclusion in the matter as 
it applies personally, we may still need to 
watch ourselves lest, like the old lady of 
whom Mr. Howells speaks, we preserve a 
" too-vigilant conscience." This old lady, 
with such a conscience, " after making her 
[48] 



life unhappy with it for some threescore 
years, now applied it entirely to the exaspera- 
tion and condemnation of others." 

Point 9 — Dress and worth. 
Is dress an indication of the moral standards 
of the wearer? 

A woman, holding a position of great in- 
fluence, said in my hearing, " I am almost 
ashamed that Miss Blank's personal untidi- 
ness so often comes first to my mind as I 
think of her. I have to use a real force of 
will and make myself rehearse her fine qual- 
ities and points of strength in order to pre- 
vent my condemnation from coming unjustly 
to the front." 

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 

But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy; 

For the apparel oft proclaims the man. 

— Shakespeare. 

Point 10 — Dress — a factor in personal 

power, 
I quote from Ruskin: 

" What woman is to be within her gates, as 

the center of order, the balm of distress, and 

[49] 



%i 91 Wttt J^ott 



the mirror of beauty ; that she is also to be 
without her gates, where order is more dif- 
ficult, distress more imminent, loveliness more 



[50] 



Cmtl^ 



0, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil! 

— Shakespeare. 




WISH to contend that the 
mind is so made that, in 
its normal action, it must 
prefer the true to the false, 
just as a bird prefers the 
pure air of the heights to 
the noxious gases of the lowlands. 
Why does the normal mind thus prefer 
veracity ? 

First — For reasons of practical prudence. 
Falsehood is foolishness as well as sin. Some 
one says that a liar should have a wondrous 
accurate memory ! And it is Oliver Wendell 
Holmes who writes, " Sin has many tools, but 
a lie is the handle which fits them all." 
Emerson gives us a hint here when he says, 
" If you would not be known to do a thing, 
never do it." 

Second — For economic reasons. Business is 
carried on upon a basis of truth. The cus- 
toms of civilized society have educated the 
individual mind to the obligation of veracity. 
151] 



gif 3j wtvt gou 



We note the truth of this when we reflect 
upon the credit system ; the use of cheques ; 
deeds ; all forms of business paper. 
Third — Beneath these prudential and eco- 
nomic considerations, lies a still deeper reason 
why the mind prefers truth ; this we may call 
the rational reason, or, as some writers call 
it, " the intellectual imperative." It is an 
offense to one's own mind to be always quib- 
bling, evading, covering one's tracks. 
" Tell truth and shame the devil," said 
Jonathan Swift, in his letter to Mary, the 
cookmaid, probably quoting from Shake- 
speare. 

Lying hurts the liar and it hurts the world. 
The sum total of human confidence is lessened 
and trust in people in general is shaken. 
I might interrupt myself right here and 
pause a moment to notice one very common 
and very subtle way in which truth is 
violated ; namely, by exaggeration. We could 
spend much time in discussing the in- 
sidious influence upon the mind of " seeing 
large." 

Among the evil results of exaggeration we 

may name, false perspective; mistaken con- 

[52] 



elusions ; misunderstandings ; broken friend- 
ship; moral insensibility or hardening, until 
all lying is easy. 

Returning now to the main road of our dis- 
cussion : 

Fourth — Another reason why the normal 
mind prefers the truth is that it prefers free- 
dom, and truth gives freedom. " He is the 
freeman whom the truth makes free," says 
Cowper. 

The mind that loves truth is free from preju- 
dice; it is open to conviction; it judges men 
and events by exact evidence, not by per- 
sonal bias ; it refuses to prejudge a person 
favorably because of a liking for him; with 
equal justice, it refuses to prejudge unfavor- 
ably because " I don't like the family." All 
this is in the atmosphere of a large and open 
freedom which in itself is desirable and at- 
tractive. 

Now, after laying down these general prin- 
ciples, we may pass on to consider points of 
appHcation : 

First — The especial importance of forming 

the habit of expressing exact truth early in 

life, because that habit lies at the foundation 

[53] 



%f 31 Wtu pou 



of everything else, and because the contrary 
habit of non-veracity so easily becomes a 
tyranny. 

Second — Another point, which, of course, has 
no relation to women, but of which I speak 
on general principles, relates to gossip, 
scandal, tale-bearing. 
We are to disprove Mark Twain's toast : 
The American humorist was returning from 
Europe, and, as usual, was surrounded by 
an admiring circle. The last night on board 
ship, he proposed a toast in honor of the 
ladies : 

" The ladies," he said, raising his glass and 
bowing ; " the ladies — second only to the 
press in the dissemination of news ! " 
Third — The formation of the challenging 
habit. Who is the " everybody " who 
" knows "? We demand concrete statements, 
not generalizations, from those with whom we 
hold converse ; therefore love of truth forbids 
that we ourselves should form judgments and 
give out generalizations upon insufficient 
evidence. 

Perhaps you have heard Dr. Martin Brum- 
baugh's story: 

[54] 



" I recall," says he, " the story of the French 
doctor who had a patient sick of typhoid 
fever, and after all the remedies that he knew 
had been tried without avail, he finally, in 
distress, gave the patient chicken broth, and 
the man got well. Then the French doctor 
was delighted, and he announced through the 
medical journals that chicken broth would 
cure typhoid fever. The next patient he had 
was an Englishman, and he at once applied 
his new-found remedy, but the Englishman 
died. Then he revised his generalization, and 
said that, whereas chicken broth would cure 
a Frenchman who was ill of typhoid fever, 
it was fatal to an Englishman ! " 
Fourth — ^We may ask what differentiates a 
lie from a falsehood? 

How can you secure needed rest and privacy 
without using the expression, often misinter- 
preted by a domestic, " Not at home " ? 
How can you be true, and yet not say to the 
caller who is a perfect bore, " I'm delighted 
to see you " ? 

I simply raise these questions. It is for you 
to answer them. 

Fifth — Must we tell the whole truth? How 
[55] 



3If 91 wm pou 



may we evade without being untrue? When 
should we decline to tell all we know? What 
latitude is allowable? 

Notice here that the principle of discrimina- 
tion is involved, hkewise the virtue of kindli- 
ness. Le Baron Russell Briggs says, " Per- 
fect courtesy is consistent with absolute 
straightforwardness." 

Sixth — The effect of an unconscious vanity 
in coloring the truth. 

Love of truth forbids over-estimation of one's 
self. 

" Conceit may puff a man up, but it never 
props him up," says Ruskin. 
An old saying of the Italians is, " Everyone 
thinks he has more than his share of brains." 
And Paul in his letter to the Romans wrote, 
" Let no man think more highly of himself 
than he ought to think." 
Love of truth, then, keeps one humble, ever 
learning, but ever seeing more to be learned ; 
ever climbing, but ever seeing terrace above 
terrace and peak above peak upon which to 
stand. 

Seventh — Is it possible for the mind to trick 
itself? 

[56] 



May one assign for an act a reason which is 
not the real reason, and so stick to the false 
statement as almost to believe it? 
Eighth — The truth-loving mind will demand 
corresponding straightforwardness in speech 
and in act ; this necessitates a rigid holding 
to the truth in the heart. " As a man thinketh 
in his heart, so is he." And it was Brown- 
ing who said, " Guard well thy thoughts, for 
thoughts are heard in heaven." 
A part of this straightforwardness is sim- 
plicity. Simplicity of language is more pow- 
erful than superlatives and expletives. We 
might in this connection discuss the too-com- 
mon habit of shading from the truth by a 
look, a gesture, an inflection of voice. 
Over-assertion of a purpose to deal honestly 
opens one to the criticism of possible un- 
truthfulness ; as Hamlet's mother, speaking 
of the lady in the play, said, " The lady doth 
protest too much, methinks." 
Marcus Aurelius once wrote in the same 
line: 

" How stale and insincere this sounds : * I 
propose to treat you fairly and square- 

ly!' 

[57] 



3If 31 l^ere pon 



" Why this to-do, man ? What is the need of 
protestation? The truth will soon be found 
out. Such a profession should be written on 
jour forehead. One should see your honesty 
shining in your eyes, as a lover discerns af- 
fection in the eyes of his beloved. 
" Simple and straight-forward goodness 
should be like a strong perfume, instantly 
perceived by one who draws near its source, 
whether he will or not." 
So if we are true, we shall not have to tell 
people so. 

Ninth — Finally, we come last of all to the 
noble picture of a spontaneous and habitual 
agreement between intellect and conscience. 
Love of truth in the intellect makes one stand 
for principle in practical action, and this 
in spite of opposition, or sneer, or even 
abuse. 

" The only conclusive evidence of a man's 
sincerity," says Lowell, " is that he gives him- 
self for a principle. Words, money, all things 
else are comparatively easy to give away ; but 
when a man makes a gift of his daily life and 
practice, it is plain that the truth, whatever 
it may be, has taken possession of him." 
[58] 



w])at f^t^m ^^v 



WHAT OTHERS SAY 

Ethics is the science of conduct and the art 
of hfe. William De Witt Hyde, 

Do every day or two something for no other 
reason than that you would rather not do it, 
so that when the hour of dire need draws 
nigh, it may find you not unnerved and un- 
trained to stand the test. 

William James. 

Console yourself, dear man and brother, 
whatever you may be sure of, be sure at 
least of this, that you are dreadfully like 
other people. James Russell Lowell. 

You tremble, you lie awake, you ask advice 
from everybody, and if what you have re- 
solved upon does not please everybody, you 

think you have been ill advised. 

Epictetus. 

One should stand upright, not be propped 
upright. Marcus Aurelius. 

The summit of manhood is attained when evil 
is consciously overcome. 

Sir Oliver Lodge. 
[59] 



€ovntt pom of a Equate 
Cl^aracter 



Justice, sir, is the great interest of man on earth. 
— Daniel Webster. 

Courage mounteth with occasion. 

— Shakespeare. 

Constancy, fidelity, bounty, and generous honesty are the 
gems oj noble minds. 

— Sir Thomas Browne. 

In loyalty, when loyalty is properly defined, is the Julfil- 
ment oJ the whole moral law. 

— JOSIAH RoYCE. 




HAT traits will you set as 
corner posts in laying out 
a square character.'^ 
To that question, I should 
myself answer: First, jus- 
tice; second, courage; 



third, fidelity ; fourth, loyalty. 
First, then, as to 



JUSTICE 

If we are to deal justly, we must submit our- 
selves to what Mr. Patterson Du Bois calls 
" the culture of justice." Mr. Du Bois would 
have us make as our " basal rule of practice," 
[60] 



pom of a Square Ci^aractet; 

" to think justice — to do this as an acquired 
habit of mind." 

Justice demands the judicial spirit in dealing 
with ourselves, in dealing with people we like, 
and in dealing with people whom we do not 
like; it forbids an overplus of appreciation 
and of depreciation of one's self, as truly as it 
forbids an overplus of appreciation or de- 
preciation of another. 

We are bound by justice to put away preju- 
dices — prejudices for as well as against our- 
selves and our neighbor. 

Are we not more prone to excuse our own 
failings than we are to excuse those of our 
neighbor ? 

Is this not especially true when an apparent 
great gain is in sight for ourselves .f* 
The "thinking justly," of which Mr. Du 
Bois speaks, will lead us to weigh our words 
before we utter them. This process of so 
thinking, so weighing is hard ; but thus only 
can our judgment be counted upon, and thus 
only can we possess real power. 
Andrew Peabody once wrote : " Do that, and 
only that, which you would regard as just 
and right, if it were done to you; then do 
[61] 



3!f 31 Wnt gow 



that, and only that, which, were you the re- 
sponsible trustee and guardian of the public 
good, you would prescribe or sanction as 
just and right." 

We may say that justice demands attention 
to inalienable rights — life, liberty, and the 
pursuit of happiness ; that it demands liberty 
to acquire knowledge; that it imposes also 
responsibility to use that acquisition for 
noblest ends ; that it demands liberty to seek 
the society of one's kind; that it imposes re- 
sponsibility to use such intercourse for the 
general betterment of society ; that it allows 
liberty to strive after popular esteem; but 
imposes the responsibility of care, lest it 
carry one to extremes and to unscrupulous 
actions ; that it gives liberty to acquire prop- 
erty ; that it carries with it responsibility, lest 
avarice result, and money, first sought for 
the power it confers, become an end, instead 
of a means ; that it discriminates between lib- 
erty and license. My liberty must never be 
allowed to interfere with another's equal lib- 
erty. I may not establish the public nuisance 
of a glue factory in my dooryard. 
We say also that justice allows liberty to ex- 
62 1 



pom of a Square c^aractet; 

eel; but it imposes responsibility for making 
sure that the purpose to excel is not tinged 
with the envy that leads to rejoicing over an- 
other's failure. 

Justice gives full liberty to show love, rever- 
ence, gratitude, kindness, pity, sympathy; 
but it brings upon the individual the respon- 
sibility for abstaining from hatred, irrever- 
ence, anger, resentment, envy, revenge. 
Justice allows liberty to relieve the poor; it 
lays upon humankind the responsibility for 
doing a fair part ; but Andrew Peabody says, 
" This or that individual poor man cannot 
claim that it is my duty, rather than that of 
my neighbor, to minister to his needs, or that 
I am bound to give him what I might other- 
wise give to his equally needy neighbor." 
Justice gives me liberty to preserve my repu- 
tation ; it lays upon me the responsibility for 
seeing that my reputation also represents my 
character. 

Justice involves self-control and a certain 
high vision of the balance of things. 
Second, as to 



[63] 



g|f 3! Wnt gou 



COURAGE 

We naturally think of courage in its com- 
mon threefold aspect, and we may well in- 
quire how far it is a quality of blood and 
nerve, how far a quality of the mind, and how 
far of the spirit. 
Let me give you a simple outline : 

1. Physical courage — stopping a runaway 
at cost of possible personal injury. 

2. Mental courage — controlling expression 
of anxiety, or hurt, because of a real, or 
fancied, personal slight; refusing to whine; 
behaving one's self when misunderstood. 

3. Moral courage — daring to stand for one's 
principles; daring to defend an absent per- 
son's good name. 

It takes moral courage to turn away from 
one's own burden to help lift another's 
burden ; but Edward Garrett says : 
" When we turn away from some duty or 
some fellow-creature, saying that our hearts 
are too sick and sore with some great yearn- 
ing of our own, we may often sever the line 
on which a divine message was coming to us. 
[64 1 



pojstji of a ^ciuai;e Cl^aracter 

We shut out the man, and we shut out the 
angel who had sent him on to open the 
door." 

I venture to offer six points for your con- 
sideration : 

1. Courage to receive honest praise in a fine 
spirit ; courage to praise another for that in 
which we have failed. 

2. Courage to bear small ills in silence; 
courage not to scoff at others who seem un- 
able to bear small ills in silence. 

3. Courage to bear large burdens with pa- 
tience, that our example may inspire another 
hard-pressed traveler. 

4. Courage to go on and on, doing our best 
unassumingly, unostentatiously, without ex- 
pecting " to be appreciated," or to be re- 
warded. " The reward is in the doing." 

5. Courage requires the exercise of a spirit 
of self-abnegation. 

" He must increase ; I must decrease," said 
John the Baptist. 

6. Courage of " convictions." 

The world has little use for a man or woman 

who says, " Well, perhaps I will, though I 

think it is not quite the thing." What the 

[65] 



gif % wm gou 



world is demanding is not so much women 
insisting on " rights," as that finer grade of 
women who will bear bravely hard, discour- 
aging experiences, and still smile and 
brighten the world. 
Justice and courage lead to 

FIDELITY 

This third post of a square character has a 
name rich in derivation; from our Latin 
" fides," faith, we go on to " fidelita," firm 
adherence ; so our definition, good faith, care- 
ful and exact observance of duty or per- 
formance of obligations, stands like a bul- 
wark at one corner of life's field. 
Carrying this study on to " fealty," we ar- 
rive at a wonderfully beautiful point in 
definition, a doublet of fidelity, 
God does not require the impossible of any of 
us. We can deal justly — pay our debts — hold 
fast to our principle of right, in spite of 
temptation. We must do it — true women will 
do it. 

Some one says that there are scores of people 

who will begin a line of service with enthusi- 

[66] 



I^o^tjs of a Square Ci^atacter 

asm, for every one who will continue faith- 
ful after the first flush has passed. 
It is easy also in our moral life to content our- 
selves with being "just about' right; it is 
hard to be faithful to our highest ideal of 
right. 

We must take no vacations, no days off, in 
this matter of fidelity; we must leave no 
ragged edges of purpose, no frayed ends of 
performance. 

You remember the closing words of Abraham 
Lincoln's second inaugural : 
" With malice toward none, with charity for 
all, with firmness in the right as God gives 
us to see the right, let us strive on to finish 
the work we are in." 

Finally, justice, courage, and fidelity lead to 
and complete themselves in 

LOYALTY 

I think of loyalty as a word indicating a 
greater intelligence, a higher grade of devo- 
tion to duty than even the two words we have 
just noted, fidelity and fealty. 
In its derivation, it is related to legality. It 
[67] 



31f 91 ^e« gou 



seems to add dignity to faithfulness ; it has 
in it the soldier note ; it is a bugle blast, de- 
manding that one stand upon his feet while 
he swears constancy. 

Fidelity concerns " conformity of our actions 
to our engagements, whether expressed or 
implied." 

Loyalty is the " one touch more." 
I want to give you here a fine passage con- 
cerning our subject, taken from Professor 
Royce's " Philosophy of Loyalty " : 
" Everybody has heard of loyalty ; most prize 
it; but few perceive it to be what, in its in- 
most spirit, it really is — the heart of all 
the virtues, the central duty amongst all 
duties. 

" A man is loyal when, first, he has some cause 
to which he is loyal; when, secondly, he will- 
ingly and thoroughly devotes himself to this 
cause; and when, thirdly, he expresses his 
devotion in some sustained and practical way, 
by acting steadily in the service of his cause. 
Instances of loyalty are: The devotion of a 
patriot to his country, when this devotion 
leads him actually to live and perhaps to die 
for his country; the devotion of a martyr 
[68] 



^om of a Square Ci^arartet; 

to his religion ; the devotion of a ship's cap- 
tain to the requirements of his office, when, 
after a disaster, he works steadily for his 
ship and for the saving of his ship's company 
until the last possible service is accomplished, 
so that he is the last man to leave the ship, 
and is ready, if need be, to go down with 
his ship." 



169] 



Ci^e ifettet; anD ti^e ftectiom of 
jttonotont 

Forenoon and afternoon and nighty 
Forenoon and afternoon and night, 
Forenoon, and — what f 
The empty song repeats itself. 

Edward Rowland Sill. 




0-N-O-T-O-N-Y! I see 
you yawn as I spell the 
word ! You say, " Oh, mo- 
notony! it is tame; it is 
wearisome; it is stupid; it 
is fettering ! " 
But wait. Is that true? The child is learn- 
ing to walk. With infinite care, he takes each 
tiny step ; he gives the whole of his infantile 
mind to pushing forward first one foot and 
then the other. Day after day, day after 
day, he does the same monotonous task; 
repetition, repetition, repetition! Now, a lit- 
tle later, he is a man ; he walks without think- 
ing of his steps ; the muscular action has 
been relegated to the subconscious field; he 
walks, and at the same moment discusses the 
poHtical situation, the latest development in 
science, the progress of the fraternal spirit 
170] 



iJfetter anD f rcetjom of jmonotonr 

in the world. The fetter of this man's child- 
hood has become the freedom of his man- 
hood. 

Among the peasants of the Pyrenean ham- 
lets in Spain, I have seen a woman apparently 
doing three things at once equally well : first, 
riding and guiding a donkey — the beast 
proverbially without memory, and therefore 
incapable of recalling the fact that every 
week for three years he has been along that 
same road on market days ; second, knitting 
rapidly and accurately, while riding and 
guiding the donkey; and third, carrying on 
an animated conversation or a spirited dis- 
cussion with another woman going to market, 
also riding and guiding a donkey, and also 
knitting rapidly and accurately. 
Any one of these three pursuits in life, taken 
by itself, would seem to us monotonous — un- 
less we except the animated conversation and 
the spirited discussion; but we may safely 
conclude that two out of the three had been 
so far dropped below immediate consciousness 
as to leave these women quite at liberty to 
carry on their talk with freedom. Habit, 
monotonous habit — the monotone of riding 
[71] 



%t 31 Wtn pm 



and guiding the donkey, and the monotone of 
knitting and knitting and knitting — had 
given to these peasants freedom, in place of 
fetter. 

Signing our name has no great charm for 
us ; we do it over and over mechanically ; it 
is stupid work, almost meaningless ; but I 
remember a time when I was glad that I had 
been obliged, at the beginning of every 
month, to sign cheques, cheques, cheques ; a 
signature for the house rent, another for 
books, other signatures for store bills ; signa- 
tures, signatures ! One day, after weeks of 
care, and the strain of sickness and death, I 
went into a shop and purchased goods. " You 
may charge them," I said to the clerk. " To 
whom shall I charge them ? " he very rightly 
asked. " To me," was my reply. " Yes, but 
to what name.? " he inquired. I couldn't tell 
him. I thought and thoughto " The house 
number is . . . ," I said, " but I can't think 
of my name." Then came the use of my fet- 
ter, my monotony. " Will you let me take 
your pencil, please ? " I said to the clerk. He 
did so, and, as mechanically as one would put 
one foot before the other in walking, I wrote 
[72] 



fetter anD ifreeDom of pLonotonv 

my name. Then I could speak it, after seeing 
it written. The fetter of a habit became my 
freedom. 

President King of Oberlin, in his fine book, 
" Rational Living," emphasizes the necessity 
of our recognizing the time limit within which 
we may form habits. I quote a strong pas- 
sage : 

" Habits man must have, but it is for him 
to choose what they shall be, provided he 
chooses quickly. The time limit in habits is 
one of the strong evidences of the close con- 
nection of body and mind. It is a startling 
fact to face, that a man's personal habits are 
largely fixed before he is twenty, the chief 
lines of his future growth and acquaintance 
before he is twenty-five, and his professional 
habits before he is thirty; yet to something 
like this, James believes, physiological psy- 
chology points. Our intellectual as well as 
our moral day of grace is limited. It is of 
no use to rebel at the facts, it is folly un- 
speakable to ignore them. We are becoming 
bundles of habits. With every young person 
one must, therefore, continually urge: Are 
you wilHng to retain just the personal habits 
[73] 



%i 91 Wm gou 



you have now? You cannot too quickly 
change them if you wish to make thorough 
work. From your early morning toilet, 
through the care of your clothing and the 
order of your room, table manners, breath- 
ing, tone of voice, manner of talking, pro- 
nunciation, gesture, motion, address, study, 
to your very way of sleeping at night — all 
your habits are setting like plaster of Paris. 
Do you wish them to set as they are? " 
We must rejoice, then, in the fact that na- 
ture releases us, after a time, from continual 
attention to infinite detail ; our early thought 
and painstaking become factors in personal 
power a little later on; so, in forming fine 
habits, our purpose must be to cultivate a 
kind of monotonous do-it-again, do-it-again, 
until we rise superior to conscious thought 
about a thousand httles, and are free to let 
our minds grapple with fresh problems as 
they present themselves for solution. 
Coleridge hated monotone as much as he 
loved monologue; he had the reputation, 
among his fellows, of being fonder of dis- 
coursing off-hand than he was of keeping 
his promise to prepare an essay for the lit- 
[74] 



fetter ant) freedom of jttonotont 

erary society to which he belonged. Once 
after having conducted a Sunday service, he 
remarked to Charles Lamb, " Charles, I 
think you have heard me preach? " Lamb, 
who never altogether overcame a tendency to 
stuttering, replied, " I n-n-never heard you 
d-d-do anything else ! " 

I have sometimes had the fear, as I have pre- 
pared these talks, that you will think I never 
do anything else but preach. 
This reference to Lamb recalls an incident 
concerning that gentle writer of the last 
quarter of the eighteenth century. 
There was in the Lamb family a strong ten- 
dency towards insanity, and, for six weeks in 
the winter of 1795-96, Lamb was confined in 
an asylum. Soon after his release, he wrote 
to Coleridge — who, you will remember, was 
a victim of the opium habit — " I look back 
upon it [his temporary restraint] at times 
with a gloomy kind of envy ; for, while it 
lasted, I had many, many hours of pure hap- 
piness. Dream not, Coleridge, of having 
tasted all the grandeur and wildness of fancy 
till you have gone mad ! " 
It is perhaps difficult for us to conceive that 
- [75 1 



3!f 31 Wm gou 



the monotony of " a house for those who are 
sick in the head " — to use a phrase that a cab 
driver in Norway once employed as he pointed 
out to us the asylum for the insane in Trond- 
hjem — could give relief from the daily 
round, and so be to Charles Lamb not fetter, 
but freedom. 

Emerson's familiar story of the contention 
between the mountain and the squirrel puts 
well the point that a disadvantage in one di- 
rection may be an advantage in another : 

The mountain and the squirrel had a quarrel, 

And the former called the latter ^'Little Prig." 

Bun replied: " You are doubtless very big, 

But all sorts of things and weather 

Must be taken in together, 

To make up a year and a sphere; 

And I think it no disgrace to occupy my place; 

If I cannot carry forests on my back, 

Neither can you crack a nut.'' 

And so they had it, back and forth in argu- 
ment. We, from our superior human heights, 
may imagine ourselves as taking the side of 
the squirrel and carrying on the conversa- 
tion somewhat as follows: 
[76] 



^fetter anti f reeDom of |Kionotont 

" Poor old mountain ! You are chained, for- 
ever chained, to your crag. Leave your fast- 
ness you cannot, struggle as you may ! How 
wearisomely monotonous is your life ! Yonder 
squirrel has freedom. He springs from tree 
to tree, from branch to bough; he burrows 
deep and hides away his winter store of nuts ; 
he has you and the forests on your back 
quite at his command. You have fetter; he 
has freedom." 

" Have you finished your remarks ? " asks the 
mountain, speaking with deliberate dignity. 
" Have you considered that my fetter, as you 
call it, is my freedom? I cannot, indeed, leave 
my crag; but I have no need to run, as 
Bunny runs, before the hound. I have no 
fear that drives me from tree to tree, fleeing 
the huntsman's gun. I rest in calm content, 
while each nerve in that chipmunk's body 
quivers at every uncommon sound." 
Freedom or fetter — which shall we choose ? 
What is that you remark about some one's 
monotonous conversation? You cry out 
against it and say, " Variety is the spice of 
life ! Give me variety ! " Yes, but all spice 
would soon become itself monotonous. 
[77] 



9If 3! ^ere pm 



Quip and turn, the flash of wit and the 
epigram of wisdom are attractive because they 
break into and focus by illustration more seri- 
ous discourse ; but quip and turn kept up for 
a whole hour become tiresome and monoto- 
nous, and they turn the listener from a sym- 
pathetic hearer into a carping critic of the 
speaker's taste. 

I am not sure but that I would choose to 
be fettered by a friend whose conversation 
rarely had a bright turn, than to be fettered 
by one whose talk always kept me either 
guessing what she was driving at, or on a 
strain of tension demanded by an effort to 
keep up my end. I verily believe that the first 
monotony would be freedom, and the second 
variety would be fetter. 

It is by contrast that enjoyment comes. We 
like a generous supper after a day's fishing 
or tramping with short rations; sleep is a 
blessed boon after days and nights of watch- 
ing by a bed of sickness ; pain may be wel- 
comed — but we beg, even then, that it be 
administered in homeopathic doses — if it gives 
to us the grace of sympathy for those who 
suffer. 

[78] 



!f etter anH f reeDom of ittonotoni? 

I heard a lady reply, when some one asked, 
in conventional fashion, " How do you do ? " 
" Do ? I'm monotonously well ! " She did not 
mean just that ; but, being a thoughtful wom- 
an, she realized that she scarcely knew the 
meaning of pain, and perhaps she felt that 
something had been left out in her educa- 
tion. 

It is recorded of Arnold of Rugby that, dur- 
ing the last few moments of his life, he said 
to his son : " Thank God, Tom, for giving 
me this pain! I have suffered so little pain 
in my life that I feel this is very good for 
me ; now God has given it to me, and I do so 
thank him for it ! " 

Robert Louis Stevenson, brave example of 
suffering manhood, once cried out : " Over- 
mastering pain — the most deadly and tragi- 
cal element in hfe, alas ! pain has its own 
way with all of us ! " Stevenson could never 
have said, " I am monotonously well ! " Nor 
could Amiel of Geneva, nor Ehzabeth Barrett 
Browning, nor John Keats. Perhaps, if these 
had had " monotonously " good health, we 
should never have had such pen-products as 
they have left to the world. 
[79] 



%( 9! Wtvt pm 



I may feel to-day especially fettered by the 
routine of life. What shall I do about it ? It is 
marvelous how a resolute setting of one's self 
to doing a thing distinctly different from 
that which one's mood suggests will affect the 
whole day. To quote Paul Laurence Dunbar : 

Just whistle a hit if the day he dark, 

And the sky he overcast: 
If mute he the voice of the piping lark, 

Why, pipe your own small hlast. 

Some of our poets have a way of giving to 
us only the pensive view of nature's moods; 
for example, Longfellow sings : 

The day is cold and dark and dreary; 
It rains, and the wind is never weary; 
The vine still clings to the moldering wall, 
And at every gust the dead leaves fall. 
And the day is dark and dreary. 

Here, perhaps, we feel fettered by weather. 
If this were all, we might well be saddened 
by the wail ; but Longfellow goes on : 

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining; 
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; 
[80] 



ifttttt ann if reeDom of pionotonv 

Thy fate is the common fate of all; 
Into each life some rain must fall, 
Some days must be dark and dreary. 



Have you ever found sunshine monotonous? 
Have you ever found in it anything but 
freedom? No? Then go to Spain in mid- 
summer, and travel day after day over that 
arid country of the oKve and the cactus. 
You will cry for a fetter of cloud, and you 
will welcome, almost with a sob, the shades 
of Andalusia, the gloom of the groves by 
the side of the Alhambra, and the comfort 
of the darkened rooms in the thick-walled 
stone hotels. 

Or go to the Northland, and sail, day after 
day and night after night, with no cover of 
darkness. You will crowd a pillow into your 
port-hole, or nearly smother yourself with a 
blanket over your head — anything to get 
away from the strain of monotonous daylight, 
for the freedom of daylight has become a 
fetter. 

We speak of monotone in certain effects of 
scenery; we call it a fetter. I venture to 
quote a recent page from my notebook : 
[81] 



%t % Wtu gou 



The day is misty ; between my train and the 
sea over yonder lies a low bank of fog. It is 
a backward March; the trees as yet show no 
sign of leaf-bud, but, bare and gray, they 
tone in with the mist and the fog and the 
gray-brown, brown-gray grass. If only the 
branches would wave! but there is no wind, 
and the boughs droop with a lassitude almost 
human. The half -rain settles upon the weeds 
along the roadside, but there is no joy in the 
drop ; it rests a moment upon last autumn's 
thistle, then sags off and slips down into the 
gray, gray earth. 

Why doesn't something happen.'' Why should 
my sight and my spirit be shut in, fettered 
by this enveloping gray ooze.'' I long to 
break through, to break through it all ! 

(A half hour later.) 
Have I slept.? What alchemy has been at 
work.? Where is the fog-bank.? Is that wind, 
or is some fairy shaking the trees.? Is that 
faint sunshine, or what has given to the 
branches that appearance, as of gold upon 
the gray.? Do I see aright.? Did that saucy 
little raindrop wink at me as he skipped, 
humming, from last year's flower-stalk to 
[82] 



if etter and sfteeDom of fnomtmv 

join a group of rollicking companions in the 
rill by the road? Is there a hint of green in 
the fields? Where is my fetter of monotony? 
Where my shut-inness? This is color, song, 
motion, freedom! 

Yes, yes ! but where is the restfulness that 
accompanied my fetter of grayness? Was 
not that a kind of freedom? Why can I no 
longer think my own thoughts in the same 
quiet? What means this renewed nerve stim- 
ulus and tension? Why do the problems of 
life now seem suddenly to tumble, insistent, 
upon me? 

Shall I choose the fetter of grayness, with its 
freedom in monotony? Shall I choose the 
freedom of light, with its fetter of enforced 
excitement and its strenuous action ? 



[83 1 



aiiSD to tl^e point 




OIMETIMES I think that 
our happiness depends 
chiefly on our cheerful ac- 
ceptance of routine, on our 
refusal to assume, as many 
do, that daily work and 
daily duty are a kind of slavery. If we can 
learn to think of routine as the best econ- 
omy, we shall not despise it. People call it 
benumbing; and so it is if we do not under- 
stand it; but if we understand that through 
it we can do more work in less time, and 
have more time left for the expansion of our 
souls, that through it we cultivate the habit 
which makes people know we can be counted 
on, we shall cease to say hard things of it. 
— LeBaron Russell Briggs. 

We pass from the sense of study as an obli- 
gation to the sense of study as an opportu- 
nity. 

— Francis G. Peabody. 



In short, without much matter what our work 

be, whether this or that, it is because, and 

[84] 



aijso to ti^e point 



only because of the rut, plod, grind, hum- 
drum in the work, that we at last get those 
self-foundations laid of which I spoke — at- 
tention, promptness, accuracy, firmness, pa- 
tience, self-denial, and the rest. 

— ^W. C. Gannett. 

Changeless march the stars above, 
Changeless morn succeeds to even; 
And the everlasting hills. 
Changeless, watch the changeless heaven. 
— Charles Ejngsley. 



[85] 



Cotttiterteitjs 



7 cannot say with Mark Twain that I know honesty 
to be the best policy because I have tried both; btU I 
know it to be the best policy because I have seen both. 

— LeBaron Russell Briggs. 




HEARD some one say re- 
cently, " I'm not sure but 
we are too moral." 
I knew what she meant; 
she voiced the sense of a 
danger which some of us 
often apprehend, that a real peril may lie in 
over-emphasis upon even so noble a subject as 
high thinking and fine living. We may so 
dwell upon the psychological features of life 
that we lose our perspective, and become real- 
ly unsympathetic, while we think ourselves 
virtuous because we " live above things." 
I once knew a young woman who had worked 
so hard to " think high " that she had, quite 
unconsciously to herself, become a semi-hypo- 
crite, and she wet-blanketed everything hap- 
py. She had a far-removed-from-the-world 
air that was sometimes pitiful and sometimes 
exasperating. One day, looking out across 
Lake Erie, flashing in a million points of 
[86] 



Counterfettjs 



July's morning sunlight, I said : " Oh, isn't 
it happy, and gay, and frolicsome ! It makes 
me feel as if I could caper like a colt across 
this green lawn ! " 

From her superior height of removal from 
the passing scenes of our transitory hfe — she 
was just six months older than I — she said, 
in what seemed to me a sanctimonious tone, 
" I suppose we must guard against giving 
way to our emotions, must we not, dear? " 
I tell you frankly that I wanted to box that 
girl's ears. That was nearly thirty years 
ago. To-day her husband is the president of 
a college, where scores and scores of young 
men would welcome a warm fireside and a bit 
of bright talk in the home of their president ; 
but Mrs. President gives to the dining-room 
and to the drawing-room such an air of the 
weight of the world that the students go to 
the house only as a matter of duty. 
If this young woman had learned early in 
life to strike an average between flippancy 
and sanctimony, I have a notion that she 
would have been an inspiration to hundreds 
of people. 

The moral of this story is found in a very 
[87] 



9jf 31 Wtvt pou 



old book : " Let not then your good be evil 
spoken of." 

Akin to this danger of semi-culture of the 
spirit — we almost dare call it counterfeit cul- 
ture — is the peril that confronts those of us 
who believe we have a mission — a mission to 
go through life ding-donging our bell and 
crying out, " Hark, and hear me ! " Then 
we harangue our auditors on the subject of — 
well — perhaps it is " The Higher Education," 
with all the title words capitalized. Some one 
is sure to say inside, " Stop talking — and 
say something ! " If she doesn't say it aloud, 
we who speak are in luck, and must put it 
down to the account of her good man- 
ners. 

For any one of us to assume that we can say 
the last word on the subject of the higher 
education, or on any other subject, is as crass 
and crude as the most arrogant assertion of 
the most uneducated person among our ac- 
quaintance. 

The moral of these remarks is: Don't try to 
know everything; and don't iterate and re^ 
iterate the few things you do know until ears 
become dull of hearing, and the good man- 
[88] 



Counterfeits! 



ners of your auditors are stretched almost to 
the snapping point. 

Again : because we sincerely wish to be grow- 
ing daily into finer ways, we perhaps say to 
ourselves over and over, " Assume the virtue 
if you have it not." 

Now while I myself know what I mean by 
that, and I could explain, if anyone should 
ask me, that I am utilizing a great psycholog- 
ical principle and am establishing paths in 
my brain and nervous system, so that, under 
the laws of habit, I may ultimately do, almost 
automatically, the things I ought to do, 
others may not take me as I mean, and I may 
give an impression of insincerity, of striving 
after the artificial, and of killing all spon- 
taneity. 

For what I do really mean, I refer you to 
Professor James, who says : " The sovereign 
voluntary path to cheerfulness, if one's spon- 
taneous cheerfulness be lost, is to sit up cheer- 
fully, to look cheerfully, and to act and speak 
as if cheerfulness were already there." 
Accordingly, do what practicing is necessary 
before your mirror, rub out the frown, smile 
at the reflection you find there, criticise her, 
[89] 



gif 31 wm ^ou 



make the most of her ; but, inasmuch as you 
would not take off your hat and " do up " 
your hair in public, neither will you practise 
" arts and graces " in public. 
Our Emerson gives us a paragraph indicat- 
ing the fact that pretension is not a fault 
of our present time only. He says : " At the 
top or at the bottom of all illusions I set 
the cheat which still leads us to work and live 
for appearances, in spite of our conviction, 
in all sane hours, that it is what we really 
are that avails with friends, with strangers, 
and with fate or fortune." 
Would you think that, by quoting Emerson, 
I am defending the man who considers him- 
self a paragon of all the virtues because he 
dares " speak out "? No, indeed! It is, as the 
wise man of Concord says, " what we really 
are that avails with friends " ; but that gives 
no one of us the right to say, " I know I'm 
blunt ; but then I'm honest ! " Pray tell me, 
why may you not be honest and yet not be 
blunt ? Are blunt people the only honest peo- 
ple? If so, I must acknowledge there are a 
good many honest ones. If you are honest, 
why counterfeit the bluff that is often used 
[90] 



Counterteftjs 



bj rogues, who are trying to make out a case 
by an air of openness, of frankness, or of 
bluntness ? 

Now as to another point : Is it not possible for 
one to be really fair to one's self? Or must 
we feel that we ought never to speak in an 
open way of our own effort, our own success ? 
We do not hesitate to speak of failure. Is it 
not conceivable that a form of mawkishness 
may unduly restrain us when we have suc- 
ceeded in some endeavor? Have you not heard 
a woman say, " I never do anything really 
well. It is kind of you to appreciate my poor 
efforts." All the time you feel morally certain 
that the speaker is fairly well satisfied with 
what she has done — though here we would 
guard against mis judgment. 
I recall the story of a famous New England 
cook, who was renowned in all the country- 
side for her tea biscuits. One day the new 
minister came to supper. After her usual 
self-depreciatory fashion, the housewife said, 
" I'm afraid my biscuits are not very light, 
sir. I don't seem to succeed very well." 
" In that case, madam," said the minister, 
" I think I shall be wiser to take the cold 
[91] 



3If 91 wm gou 



bread." Of course she never forgave him that 
blunder. 

Therefore I ask : May one not have a kind of 
self -appreciation that is not arrogance ? May 
one not stand off and really review one's own 
work impartially? It is said that Madame 
de Stael rarely, if ever, read over one of her 
own books. When an expression in any one 
of them was quoted to her, she was aston- 
ished and said : " Did I indeed write that ? 
I am quite charmed with it. It is excellently 
well expressed." 

Professor Simpson, in writing of his friend, 
Henry Drummond, says : " It was impossible 
not to be impressed by the humility of the 
man. It was a constantly recurring trait. At 
the same time, few men have more accurately 
gauged themselves, and he well knew just 
what he could do." 

We differentiate, then, between a humility 
which recognizes limitations and respects 
them, and a mock humihty which produces 
various forms of Uriah Heep, who rubs his 
hands half cringingly, and murmurs, " I'm so 
'umble!" 

Without doubt you are often really discour- 
[92] 



Countctfeitjs 



aged because you feel that you know so little. 
You may at least take comfort in the thought 
of Cowper, who wrote : " Knowledge is proud 
that he has learned so much. Wisdom is 
humble that he knows no more." 
Perhaps we shall agree that a little wisdom 
with humility is better, and also more com- 
fortable to live with, than great knowledge 
that feels itself so sufficient as to be arrogant 
and domineering. 

Mr. Crothers mentions " a good lady who 
goes to the art class and is able to talk of 
Botticelli ; but she has no right to look down 
upon her husband as an inferior creature be- 
cause he supposes that Botticelli is one of Mr. 
Heinz's fifty-seven kinds of pickles." 
Some one once asked Erasmus, " How can a 
man become learned? " Erasmus replied by 
saying : " If he haunted the company of the 
learned, if he listened submissively to the say- 
ings of the learned, if he diligently read and 
reread the writings of the learned ; but above 
all, if he never deemed that he himself was 
learned." 

Few of us can know something about every- 
thing; but most of us can, if we are eager 
[93] 



9If 3! Wm Pou 



and receptive, learn something about several 
things, and perhaps know a great deal about 
a few things; but we have to start by not 
being afraid to own that we do not know 
everything. Pretension is fatal both to en- 
joyment and to progress. 
Now, then, if we have recovered sufficiently 
from our discouragement to be willing to 
take hold of odd bits of information as they 
come to us, and even perhaps to work them 
over until we amass something that stands 
for a sort of wisdom, we may possibly be ob- 
liged to pull ourselves up, lest we show sur- 
prise because some one else does not know just 
the things we know. Charles Battell Loomis 
in " A Bath in an English Tub " says : " We 
are always astounded, astounded and amused, 
that the other man does not know the thing 
we know ; but we are apt to think it of Httle 
moment that we don't know the thing the 
other man knows." 

Right in this connection I may say that often 
and often what impresses a hearer or a reader 
is not so much " sheer weight of thought," 
as it is " the felicitous use of thought," to 
quote Brainerd Kellogg. 
[94 1 



CounterfeitjS 



So, if I felt my deficiencies in the amount of 
knowledge I possessed, I would try to study 
the art of putting things, in order that I 
might, if possible, make good the lack of 
quantity by adding some flavor of qual- 
ity. 

The author of " Ideas of a Plain Country 
Woman " says : " The great need of women's 
lives just at the present time is that they lay 
aside ambitions for the sake of real apprecia- 
tions; that they stop doing things for the 
name of the thing. Women need to stop 
dreading being behind the procession." 
As I read that, I wondered if " hard times " 
have not a beneficent side to their hardness. 
Perhaps saying, " I can't aff"ord it," is a 
good thing, and perhaps hard times give peo- 
ple a chance to stop trying " to keep up with 
the procession." Perhaps men and women 
both may in such times come to a spot where 
"appreciations," rather than "ambitions" of 
the commoner sort, may have a chance. If a 
brief halt is called in the breathless rush after 
excitements which are devitalizing rather than 
recreating, then hard times may be a blessing 
in disguise. 

[95] 



9!f 91 Wtvt Pou 



But I find myself caught on the other horn 
of the dilemma; for you will tell me that it 
is as poor taste to air one's poverty as it is 
to brag of one's riches; but the difference 
between the woman who, under necessity, ex- 
plains her inability to indulge in this or that 
luxury, and the woman who continually dis- 
cusses her reverses of fortune and thinks that 
she thus shows her openness of character, is 
as wide as the sea. 

Perhaps we sometimes do things that we can- 
not afford to do; we wish to be obliging, 
when we really ought to dare to be disoblig- 
ing. You may recall George Eliot's pithy 
way of putting this thought : " Be courteous, 
be obliging, but don't give yourself over to 
be melted down for the benefit of the tallow 
trade." 



[96] 



Worng 



Do not worry; eat three square meals a day; say your 
prayers; be courteous to your creditors; keep your diges- 
tion good; exercise; go slow, and go easy. Maybe there 
are other things that your special case requires to make you 
happy, but, my friend, these I reckon will give you a good 
lift. — Abraham Lincoln. 




OME people seem to think 
worry an indication of 
goodness, of self-abnegat- 
ing care for others; they 
wish to be credited with, 
" I was worried nearly to 
death about her ! " Or they say : " You know 
that I carry a great many burdens of other 
people. It seems natural for those in doubt 
and in anxiety to come to me ! " 
Such people do not realize their own spirit 
of mawkishness, for they are really self-de- 
ceived, and they may even think a neighbor 
flippant, because she refuses to worry. 
If you should tell a woman of that type that 
worry is a sin, she would not understand 



you. 

Our f'rail sisters of this type do not really 
wish to feel differently about worry. 
[97] 



:jf 91 wm pou 



They remind me of that patient of the great 
Dr. Abernethy, of London, who was indignant 
w^hen the doctor said, " There's nothing the 
matter with you, madam. You just need 
rest!" 

" Nothing the matter with me, doctor ! " ex- 
claimed the irate old woman. " Just look at 
my tongue ! " 

" Needs rest, too, madam ! " was the doctor's 
laconic reply. 

So, if we find ourselves given to " enjoying 
poor health," or to half-enjoying worry, we 
must learn the genial art of treating it with 
a kind of free-hand perspective, even with a 
semi-humor, as one might deal with a spoiled 
child. Why, one may become fairly buoyant 
and delighted in studying the knack of ad- 
justment to one's worries. 
Parents worry over their children, and un- 
consciously nag them ; they correct every 
smallest error or fault with, " You must not," 
day in, day out, until one sometimes wonders 
that the children of such parents ever learn 
to make independent decisions; often they 
must learn their lessons through failure later 
on in life. 

[98] 



Wouv 



On the other hand children worry, nag, and 
tease their parents, when frequently the anx- 
iety is over a matter utterly non-essential ; the 
question of whether mother shall wear this 
gown or that, whether she shall wear a large 
hat or a small one, whether she shall wear a 
veil or go without one. Mother has a perfect 
right to choose for herself without being 
made uncomfortable by, " There ! do set your 
hat straight. Mother ! " or, " Do fasten your 
veil lower down. Mother ! " or, " Really, 
Mother, you must not wear that dress to- 
day ! " 

I once heard of a certain gentleman who 
said to his wife, " My goodness ! What are 
you in such a stew about? " 
To which the lady replied : " Well, I have 
a right to fuss ! I'm to deliver an address at 
the * Don't Worry Club ' this afternoon, and 
I'm afraid it's going to rain ! " 
Some people worry when their nerves " get 
on top." They are tired or over-strained, and 
small matters look large, everything is out 
of focus. 

" Pelleas," says Zona Gale, in one of her 

charming stories, " is not one of the folk who^ 

[991 



3If 9! Wnt gott 



when they travel, grow just tired enough to 
take a kind of suave exception to everything 
one says. Nor does Pelleas agree to distrac- 
tion ! He agrees to all fancies, and very mod- 
erately corrects all facts — surely an attribute 
of the Immortals ! " 

Dr. John K. Mitchell in a recent book says: 
" Worries are like crumbs in a bed ; the more 
you wriggle, the more they scratch you ! " If 
we agree with Dr. Mitchell, it will be a part 
of our ethical duty to practice the fine art of 
not wriggling ! 

We would mark a difference between the one 
who honestly and earnestly takes life's respon- 
sibilities with gravity, and the one who 
" fears every time the tide goes out, that it 
won't come in again." 
Emerson, borrowing from the French, says: 

Some of your hurts you have cured, 

And the sharpest you still have survived, 

But what torments of grief you endured. 
From evils which never arrived I 

Those who think that to worry shows a fine 

sensitiveness may accuse you of taking hfe's 

burdens lightly, whereas you may have gone 

[100] 



Wont 



through struggles, of which the world knows 
nothing, in order to carry burdens sanely; 
but this you will bear with a smile. 
Charles F. Deems gives us our closing 
word: 

The world is wide 

In time and tide, 

And God is guide; 
Then do not hurry. 

That man is blest 

Who does his best 

And leaves the rest; 
Then do not worry. 



[101] 



flDur flDton 



If I am where I am, it is thanks to the care of that 
lady who married me when I was a mere complication 
of cough and bones, much fitter for an emblem of mor- 
tality, than a bridegroom. — R. L. Stevenson. 




T serves you right to have 
such happiness ! " 
This was the dehghtfully 
non-conventional way in 
which a German lady con- 
gratulated a friend of mine 
upon her engagement. 

What constitutes the basis for a happy mar- 
riage ? I quote Philip Gilbert Hamerton : 
" For short and transient relations, the prin- 
cipal charm in a woman is either beauty or 
a certain sweetness ; but, for any permanent 
relation, the first necessity of all is that she 
be companionable." 

President Hyde answers our question as fol- 
lows: 

" Do you find in another, one to whose well- 
being you can devote your life ; one to whom 
you can confide the deepest interests of your 
mind and heart; one whose principles and 
[102] 



iS)uv €>tDn 



purposes you can appreciate and respect ; one 
in whose image you wish your children to be 
born, and on the model of whose character 
you wish their characters to be formed; one 
whose love will be the best part of whatever 
prosperity, and the sufficient shield against 
w^hatever adversity may be your common lot? 
Then, provided this other soul sees a like 
worth in you, and cherishes a like devotion 
for what you are and aim to be, marriage is 
not merely a duty, it is the open door into 
the purest and noblest Hfe possible to man 
and woman. Complete identification and de- 
votion, entire surrender of each to each in 
mutual affection is the condition of true mar- 
riage." 

What did Lord Lyttleton mean when he 
said, " The lover in the husband may be 
lost".? 

Perhaps we may answer that question by re- 
calling what George Eliot says : " I have long 
since lost faith in the love that has ceased to 
express itself." 

Love does not stop to measure or to weigh; 
it gives with self-abnegation. Our own Whit- 
tier voices this when he sings : 
[103] 



9if 31 wm pou 



" Love, that self-forgetful gives, 
Sows surprise of ripened sheaves, 
Late or soon its own receives." 

Two old proverbs set rules for the govern- 
ment of women : 

" A woman should leave her home but three 
times — when she is christened, when she is 
married, and when she is buried." 
" The woman, the cat, and the chimney should 
never leave the house." 

Would adherence to these maxims prove a 
remedy for divorce.'^ 

How shall the divorce blot on the American 
'scutcheon be explained.'* 

Professor Shailer Matthews says that he sees 
many young men and women who cherish 
loose ideas about marriage. Regarding the 
American people as a whole, he says : " We 
fail to take our family relations with sufficient 
seriousness. We get married with the easy 
sang-froid with which we go on a pic- 
nic." 

We may name some false or superficial no- 
tions that sometimes bring a man and woman 
to a sudden engagement and a hasty mar- 
[ 104 ] 



flDur €>l»n 



riage: admiration on the part of a woman, 
fascination on the part of a man; vanity on 
the part of both; mere nervous excitement, 
often falsely reckoned as love ; sickly senti- 
mentality, or " pity that is akin to love " ; 
marrying a man to reform him. 
Over against such a picture of outraged con- 
science, lowered ideal, and lost heart as is 
painted for us by Browning in his " Andrea 
del Sarto," we place such tributes as those 
paid to Mrs. William McKinley and to Mrs. 
Lyman Abbott. 

Some one wrote after Mrs. Abbott's death, 
" Wise orderer of her household, skillful 
trainer of children, gracious dispenser of hos- 
pitality, preserver of the youthful spirit in 
herself and others, patient participant in 
many undertakings for social amelioration, 
practical believer in the democracy as well as 
the inviolability of friendship, she interpreted 
in modern terms, by her life, with singular 
literalness, the womanly ideal set forth in the 
closing verses of the ancient book of Pro- 
verbs." 

May I name fourteen points for your con- 
sideration ? 

[105] 



9)f 91 wm gou 



1. The foundation stones: love, plus harmony 
of tastes, aims, purposes. 

2. The bef ore-marriage constant " visiting " 
cannot be continued : office duties come in ; 
house duties ; social and civic duties. 

3. Exuberance of novelty, versus habitual 
custom : this lack of novelty must not be con- 
strued as a lessening of affection. 

4. Essential differences in the way the same 
thing is looked at; for example, anniversary 
days and personal memorials ; her mind deals 
in concrete details ; his in generals. 

5. Adaptation to personal peculiarities, each 
to each. 

6. Taking good-naturedly and lovingly the 
expression of a different view. Each tries to 
see the other's point of view. Constant agree- 
ment would be stultifying. 

7. Carefulness about continuing the small 
courtesies of life as in the days of court- 
ship: dress, personal habits, delicate atten- 
tions. 

8. Remembering the special likes of husband 
or of wife. 

9. No fault-finding on his part ; no fretting 
or " nagging " on her part. 

[106] 



iSDur <^Kx>n 



10. Not dwelling over-much upon little 
things : illnesses, when slight ; " outs " in the 
kitchen or in the office ; " outs " in the per- 
sonal ego. Love is not blind, but love must 
be patient, and love must be considerate. 

11. Extent to which business anxieties on the 
one hand and household cares on the other 
should be shared. 

12. Frank confidence as to essential condi- 
tions — income ; debts ; proper allowance for 
the house, for the wife's personal use, for the 
husband's personal use ; saving for " a rainy 
day." 

13. The home, a school for the training of 
each to a position of genuine equality. 

14. Neither stands upon his or her dignity 
waiting for the other " to make up." A good 
laugh, springing from a sense of humor, helps 
the " making up." 

In the book of Deuteronomy we read : " When 
a man hath taken a new wife, he shall not 
go out to war, neither shall he be charged 
with any business; but he shall be free at 
home one year, and shall cheer up his wife 
which he hath taken." 



[107] 



^icMm anD ^orrotD 



Even the many weak-hearted men of our day who only 
ward to die quickly and "go to heaven'' without a 
struggle, may well Jind themselves deceived, and that the 
struggle will yet meet them, but under less favorable 
conditions. — Carl Hilty. 




S it possible to enter the 
Gulf Stream of Peace, as 
I like to call a kind of get- 
to - the-bottom-and-be-quiet 
place, that is a haven for 
the spirit? Can one enter 
that Gulf Stream, if one is in a condition of 
physical suffering almost constantly? Or if 
one is handicapped by weakness or by semi- 
invalidism which virtually amounts to per- 
manent ill-health? 

I wish I could answer my own question with 
positiveness, with a finality that would give 
strength to sufferers and to strugglers. 
I bow before the awf ulness of physical pain ; 
but beneath that sense of awfulness there 
come to me three " anchor words " : For- 
titude, Patience, Faith. 

The fine root of fortitude is personal honor. 
[108] 



I am bound by self-respect to be brave under 
the inevitable. 

The root of patience is the previously formed 
habit of self-control. 

The root of faith lies in reason. It is incon- 
ceivable in this age for one to be satisfied 
with naming events as " by chance." If they 
are not " by chance," then they are " by de- 
sign." Thus I am brought face to face with 
behef in the moral order of the world. Into 
this order I place myself, just as I place 
the planetary system. It includes my pain, 
my sorrow, my growth. How.? I don't know! 
Why? I don't know; but out of this concep- 
tion I get a kind of fling-out into life that 
I call faith — faith in the moral order, faith 
in an Over-Soul that made me a part of it, 
faith in an infinite care about how I bear 
my part in it. 

Therefore it is that, with fortitude and pa- 
tience I couple faith, and so keep up my 
struggle. While I speak thus, I realize that 
talking is easy, and that living up to that 
same talk is difficult. 

We are to guard against any tendency to 

fall into a state of mind satisfied with itself — 

[109] 



3!f 91 Wtn pm 



with its own fortitude, its owti patience, its 
own faith. St. Paul says : " Brethren, I count 
not myself to have apprehended : but this one 
thing I do, forgetting those things which are 
behind, and reaching forth unto those things 
which are before, I press toward the mark." 
What I have tried to say as to bearing the 
personal handicaps of physical disability may 
be applied as well to the burden of sor- 
row. 

I quote Felix Adler, who, in " Life and Des- 
tiny," says: 

" What is it that can enable a man to weather 
the hurricane of grief which is apt to descend 
upon the soul immediately after a great loss; 
and what can enable him to live through the 
dead calm which is apt to succeed that first 
whirlwind of passionate desolation? It is the 
thought that the fight must still go on, be- 
cause there are issues of infinite worth at 
stake: and that, though wounded and crip- 
pled, he must still have his part in the fight 
until the end." 

I venture to quote from one who greatly 
longed for soHtude during days of sacred 
anniversary : 

rnoi 



" I have rebelled against the necessity for 
effort, for activity, for having to be con- 
stantly in the presence of people during these 
precious days. I have wanted to be alone and 
quiet; but it has been impossible. When it 
has seemed to me that I could not endure 
anything less than solitude, I have nerved 
myself to duty, and have thought, that, as it 
would have been easier during these years to 
die than to live, so it would now be easier to 
grieve than to work and seem to smile. '^ 
But she smiles, though those who love her 
see the smile with a lump in the throat. 
Our own agony of spirit may sometime be 
our scepter of power. I quote from a letter 
on my desk: 

"It is these ' after days ' that cost — these 
days when you awake in the morning half 
dazed, wondering what is ' different ' ; when 
you go through the days as in a dream, scarce 
knowing what it is you miss ; when you go to 
bed at night with an ache of loneliness that 
not even your nearest ones can really under- 
stand or really enter into. These times are 
sacred to the individual heart; these places 
in the soul are one's own ' holy of holies ' — 

[111] 



%t 9! wm pm 



even the bruised spirit itself only partially 
understands, so mysterious are the processes 
at work under blows stunning, benumbing, 
paralyzing — mercifully paralyzing. 
" But I ' trust out ' for you, dear, even while 
I ache with you. The readjustment will be 
gradual; little by little you will realize that 
the half-waited-for return will not be a re- 
turn in the physical form; that things can 
never again be the same. 
" I believe that for you this will come without 
collapse. I speak from experience, for I, too, 
have lived on." 

Now and again you may be able to comfort 
when your friend's mood is that of self-con- 
demnation over a collapse. You may per- 
haps say such a word as I once read from 
a page, written by one who knew whereof she 
spoke : 

" Don't let the break-down worry you ; don't 
call yourself names — weakling, coward. Just 
let Nature have her way ; never mind whether 
or not you feel or say what you think you 
ought to feel or say; it will all come right 
after a little. 

" You see, nerves are as real as bones and 
[112] 



^icfenejSjS and ^orrotD 

muscles, and are far more difficult to manage. 
For one person, just going on, half stolidly, 
half dreaminglj, is * the way out ' ; for an- 
other, just lying down and ' having it out ' 
is dear Nature's way of restoring equi- 
librium. 

" So, dear friend, when we no longer * see 
through a glass darkly,' but ' face to face,' 
we shall perhaps learn to give as kindly a 
judgment of ourselves, who are a part of 
God's creation, as we are now willing to give 
to others, placed as we ourselves are." 
Let me recall to you Faber's exquisite 
stanza : 

" For the love of God is broader 

Than the measure of man^s mind; 
And the Heart of the Eternal 
Is most wonderfully hind." 



[113] 



dPuesstsj anD i^ojspttalttt 



Be not forgetful to entertain strangers; for thereby 
some have entertained angels unawares. 

— The Book of Hebrews. 




OINTS to be considered : 

1. Entertaining simply — 
"putting on another 
plate " — versus entertain- 
ing pretentiously. 

2. Freedom for guest and 
for hostess a requisite for enjoyment. 

3. Materials in a guest-room — for sewing, 
for writing, for reading, for nibbling at 
bed-time. 

4. Obligation on the part of the guest not 
to comment upon the family or the hostess, 
after the visit : family secrets — forgetting 
that they have been heard; matters talked 
about while hostess and guest have been as 
one family; considering always the sacred- 
ness of the breaking of bread together. 

Let me add two or three very homely para- 
graphs. I introduce them by an apposite 
quotation from a letter of a very unusual 
woman, whose family has met reverses with 

[111] 



(Bmm anti J^ojSpitaUt^ 

a wonderful dignity and heroism. No reverses 
can make this woman beheve that her friends 
can ever be other than friends, and not for a 
moment has she faltered in hospitality. From 
a Httle hill farm in New England she writes : 
" We have been thinking and speaking of you 
very often lately, and we are wondering if 
your plans for the summer may not include 
a visit here. We should so like to see you! 
We promise that you shall have freedom from 
luxuries, but we can give you delicious green 
peas now, and our garden products of all 
kinds will be in prime order by late July. Do 
come ! " 

As I read that sheet, I wondered how many 
of " my girls " would have the freedom from 
false pride, and the beautiful grace to enter- 
tain, without apology, in a farmhouse where 
no maid is kept. 

Then I went on wondering how many of you, 
if in such a home as a guest, would enter 
gladly, heartily, tactfully into the life of the 
family, being pleased with every least little 
thing, and aiding, here and there, in the work 
of the household. 

Such a situation demands real tact ; the kind 
[115] 



3ie 3! ^erc pm 



that springs from genuine sincerity of heart 
and kindliness of spirit. It takes study to be 
able to enter a home and become a really ac- 
ceptable visitor. If such an opportunity falls 
to you — and I hope it may — go prepared with 
a short skirt, a comfortable shirtwaist, and 
two or three aprons ; then you can help make 
the beds, dust, and wash the dishes. If you 
have only good clothes with you, your hostess 
will do everything she can do to keep you 
from any real helping. 

Often you can say : " Now, while I am 
here, you are to have no responsibility for 
the care of the piazzas, or for keeping the 
parlor in order, or for doing the chamber- 
work." 

One, or all, of these daily tasks you can take 
upon yourself and feel the better for them — 
the better physically and morally ; but, if you 
would succeed in doing them so as to relieve 
your friend from the sense of " I-wish-she- 
wouldn't-do-it ! " you must study the art of 
helpfulness. 

This brings me to speak of your being a 

guest in a home where your aid is not needed ; 

there may be one, or two, or more servants; 

[116] 



but remember that your hostess has her daily 
cares, unless the running of the house falls 
entirely upon an upper servant, a managing 
housekeeper. 

In any event, your friend needs certain hours 
each day uninterrupted — even by the thought 
of you, her guest ; therefore, if you are tact- 
ful, you will betake yourself to your room to 
write letters, or sew, or read ; or you will an- 
nounce at breakfast that, unless some one 
wants you, you will go off for a two hours' 
stroll. 

What I plead for is rest in entertaining and 
in being entertained. Some guests seem to 
expect, almost to demand, constant attention ; 
they have no resources within themselves ; 
they dislike to be alone; they are a constant 
weight on the mind of the entertainer. 
Of course, you, as guest, will put yourself at 
the disposal of your hostess and will accom- 
modate the time when you will put in fresh 
ruchings and write your letters, to the plans 
of the family ; but you will be watchful, tact- 
ful, genuinely kind ; then the " Do come next 
summer ! " will be sincerely uttered when you 
go away. 

[117] 



3If 31 Wm pou 



I find myself becoming first guest, then 
hostess, in this talk. So, if you are hostess, 
you will be as studious to make your guest 
happy, as your guest will be to leave you with 
open hours. You will not think that mak- 
ing her " one of the family " consists in put- 
ting her to room with some one else — unless 
it is an absolute necessity. You will give her 
the dainty guest-room alone, that she may be 
free to rest when she chooses. 
I recall an incident that took place a few 
years ago. 

A young woman of twenty-three was invited 
to spend a week with her college classmate, 
whom we will call Mary Sawyer, at the Saw- 
yers' country home. Let me call the guest 
Louise Lane. She arrived at the little sta- 
tion in the country, after a day of dusty 
travel, and found no conveyance ready for 
her. After waiting ten minutes, she learned 
from the station agent that no public car- 
riage was procurable, but that the Sawyers' 
home was less than a mile distant. 
Leaving her trunk to be put into the bag- 
gage-room, and learning also that the sta- 
tion would not be opened again until the next 
[118] 



(Kuesitsj ana ^^osspftalttv 

morning, she started to walk to her friend's 
house. 

The road was dry and dusty, and Louise was 
half sick with headache and with depression 
— for she had written, telling Mary at what 
hour she would arrive. 

When Louise had covered half the distance, 
she was met by Jean, Mary's younger 
sister. 

" Mary has gone to a picnic. She knew you 
wouldn't care. She said you would just be 
one of the family," said Jean. 
At the house, Mrs. Sawyer greeted the guest 
pleasantly and remarked : " We are putting 
you right into Mary's room. We thought it 
would remind you of happy college associa- 
tions." 

Poor Louise! As she passed the open door 
of the cool-looking guest room, she wished 
she were not '' one of the family," for she 
longed for quiet and an opportunity to 
rest. 

Jean prattled on : "I usually room with 
Mary, but I suppose three in a bed would be 
crowding. I don't mind sleeping on the 
couch ! " 

[119] 



31f 31 ^ere pu 



Louise ventured to say something about her 
trunk. 

" Oh, yes," said Jean, " the trunk will be all 
right at the station, and some time to-morrow 
we can get it home ! " 

You know the rest: an evening of discom- 
fort; no fresh thin gown; head still aching; 
clothing for the night borrowed from Mary 
when she returned; hours of restless half- 
sleep. 

In the morning Louise made a bold decision, 
and said : " Mary, I'm so accustomed to sleep- 
ing alone that I'm going to ask you to put 
me into the other room. I know you would 
wish me to speak just as if I were one of the 
family! " 

Of course, there was glad acquiescence; the 
visit was saved from unhappiness ; a friend- 
ship was saved from wreck. 
Thoughtlessness is often mere selfishness, and 
often what seems like selfishness is mere 
thoughtlessness ; but perhaps we may venture 
to say that the thoroughly considerate friend 
is not thoughtless. 



[ 120] 



flDur iSetg^tiotsi anU frtenDjs 



To love our friends is a work of nature, to love our 
enemies is a work of grace : the troublesome thing is to 
get on with those who are "betwixt and between." 

— Samuel McChord Crothers. 




Y neighbor is " the one 
next." How shall we con- 
strue this? 

As to formal convention- 
alities, while many must 
necessarily be retained, one 
may say that the mere exchange of visiting 
cards — formal calling where the visitor nei- 
ther knows nor cares whether or not she will 
find the lady called upon at home — is, hap- 
pily, rapidly going out of fashion. Why 
shouldn't it? What social or ethical end is 
attained by leaving a card at a door? Of 
course one modifies this in cases of sickness 
and in times of sorrow. 

You ask what I think of club life for wom- 
en. If I should tell you all I think, you 
would be ready to remind me of the story told 
about the University preacher's long sermon. 
The seven-year-old son of the gentleman who 
[121] 



%t 91 Wtu pm 



was entertaining the preacher was asked, in 
the presence of the learned divine, what he 
thought of the sermon. With a child's frank- 
ness, the boy said : " Papa, I saw three fine 
places where he could have stopped ! " 
The case for clubs is well stated by Mr. W. 
L. Bodine, superintendent of compulsory 
education in Chicago : " Women's clubs are 
the natural product of a progressive sex liv- 
ing in a progressive age. They stand for the 
home, for the school, for art and literature 
and music; for science and for intellectual 
advancement of the American woman who 
presides over the American home. They are 
not theoretical, they are practical; they act, 
they do things for the good of society, for 
the good of the community and of the coun- 
try. The greater woman means the better 
nation." 

I bethink me of a group of young girls who, 
a few years ago, composed a circle of King's 
Daughters. As their horizon widened, they 
realized the need of a greater intelligence 
concerning the world's needs ; thus grew their 
Mission Study Class; then more joined the 
circle, and it divided itself into three 
r 122.1 



" bands " ; one week the Mission Study Class 
" band " was responsible for the evening's 
programme. The next week the King's 
Daughters' " band " presented work, which 
included caring for a destitute family, sew- 
ing, visiting, raising money and disbursing 
it. The third week the Village Improvement 
Society " band " undertook the evening's 
schedule. 

In seven years this group of ten young girls 
had become the most potent social, ethical, 
and religious factor in a town of six thousand 
people. The small beginning was the source 
of six organizations, working under one gen- 
eral committee: 

1. The King's Daughters. 

2. The Mission Study Class. 

3. The Village Improvement Society. 

4. The Woman's Auxiliary of the Law and 
Order League. 

5. The Shakespeare Club. 

6. The Saturday Good Entertainment Com- 
mittee. 

Let it be, if you please, self-improvement 

first; but the earnest woman soon joins some 

other woman in a service of love. She learns 

[ 123] 



9If 3! Wm i9ou 



that " in union there is strength," and she 
serves humanity better, and gets out of her 
own Httle groove by comparing methods and 
combining work with her neighbor. 
We will not here discuss " bridge whist " 
and, incidentally, the gambling spirit, prev- 
alent to-day among women as well as among 
men. Perhaps we may commend this subject 
to an enlightened conscience, and leave it 
with these questions: How far am I justified 
in using time for " bridge " ? Is there an 
ethical offense in getting something for 
nothing ? 

We pass now to a few paragraphs concern- 
ing our relation to our friends. 
In his essay on " Behavior " Emerson says : 
" Friendship should be surrounded with cere- 
monies and respects, and not crushed into cor- 
ners." In another place he observes : " The 
essence of friendship is entireness, a total 
magnanimity and trust." Does this mean 
blindness as to the weaknesses of our friends ? 
There are people who seem to think it a vir- 
tue never to see faults in their friends. Not 
so ; we love our friends and they love us in 
spite of faults. 

[ 124] 



iSDur jljeisl^tiorsj and ftitnti^ 

We protect our friend from the shafts of 
criticism. We disprove the unhappy saying 
of Thackeray, in his " Roundabout Papers " : 
" An acquaintance grilled, scored, deviled, 
and served with mustard and cayenne pepper, 
excites the appetite; whereas a slice of cold 
friend with currant jelly is but a sickly, un- 
relishing meat." 

We are not only courteous to our friends, but 
we are eager for their advancement; we are 
jealous for them, not of them. 
Is it possible for us to rise to the height 
where we can say honestly : " If a new friend 
can do more, or be more for my friend than 
I can do or be, I welcome for my dear one 
this fresh inspiration and quickening in her 
life.'' " Is this an impossible terrace .f* 
We might enter into a discussion concerning 
" plain speaking " ; concerning the limits of 
criticism — favorable, which might seem flat- 
tery, and unfavorable, which might seem 
jealousy; concerning wise and unwise expres- 
sion of sympathy ; of circumstances when one 
must dare to run the risk of losing a friend- 
ship by being true to one's sense of duty ; 
concerning the wisdom also of remembering 
r 125 1 



91f 31 ^ere gou 



what Sir John Lubbock says : " Friendship 
gives no privilege to make ourselves disagree- 
able." 

Must friends agree, or may they agree to 
disagree ? 

" I hate," again remarks Emerson, " where 
I looked for a manly furtherance, or at least 
a manly resistance, to find a mush of conces- 
sion. Better be a nettle in the side of a 
friend than his echo." 

History and literature are filled with exqui- 
site illustrations of friendship: David and 
Jonathan ; Ruth and Naomi ; Xenophon and 
Socrates ; Cicero and Atticus ; Charles James 
Fox and Edmund Burke; Alfred Tennyson 
and Arthur Hallam; Jesus Christ and those 
who lived in the quiet home in Bethany. 
Charles Wagner, in "The Better Way," 
gives sane advice as to how to treat one's 
friends : 

" Love your friends and do not put them 
from you. Tell them of your love not once, 
but often ; and do not merely tell it, but prove 
your words to them and repeat the proof. 
Open your heart and love them kindly wise. 
Make merry for them; make them happy; 
[126] 



give them brightness ; make jour home cheery 
for them. All moments are propitious. The 
lost opportunities we most regret were op- 
portunities for loving." 

The people who love us go quickly out of 
our lives. It is Nora Perry who says : 

" Then out of sight and out of reach they go, 
These close, familiar friends that loved us so; 
And, sitting in the shadow they have left, 
Alone with loneliness and sore bereft, 
We think, with vain regret, of some fond word 
That once we might have said, and they have 
heard.'' 



[127] 



pattioti^m anti €Mc ?E>tttt 



Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, 
His first, best country ever is at home. 

— Goldsmith. 









i 











ECKY, in his " England in 
the Eighteenth Century," 
says : " All civic virtues, 
all the heroism and self- 
sacrifice of patriotism, 
spring ultimately from the 
habit men acquire of regarding their nation 
as a great organic whole, identifying them- 
selves with its fortunes in the past as in the 
present, and looking forward anxiously to 
its future destinies." 

The sentiment of devotion to the Fatherland, 
accordingly, includes: 
1. Reverence for the past. 
The real patriot reverences law, because it 
is the expression of the best judgment of 
the past. This is entirely consistent with the 
exercise of freedom to examine and even to 
criticise whatever has come down to us. 
S. Respect for the present. 
Here we must distinguish between surface 
[128] 



patxiotim anH €Mc ^utv 

fads, fashions of the moment, and the real 

undertone of the time. 

We respect the present because all that was 

worthy in the past has gone into the present. 

Here belongs enthusiasm for the flag — for all 

it stands for, both in the past and in the 

present. 

3. Faith in the future, and ambition for na- 
tional progress. 

There are those who are merely dreamers; 
but the right kind of patriotism takes the 
long look ahead. The true patriotism is a 
prophet of good, as in the familiar and classic 
phrase of Abraham Lincoln, at Gettysburg, 
November 19, 1863 : " That government of 
the people, by the people, for the people, shall 
not perish from the earth." 

4. The sense of our own personal responsi- 
bility for carrying on these good things and 
providing for the best in the future. 

The editor of a prominent newspaper 
says: 

" The first of all duties to one's country is 
that of leading a decent, honest life. That 
is what counts in either peace or war. That 
wiU prevent him from becoming a charge on 
[129] 



gif 91 ^eve pm 



his country if he stays at home, or a disgrace 
to it if he goes abroad. No amount of shout- 
ing on the Fourth of July, or of cannon 
firing takes the place of the clean personal 
Hfe." 

It is yours to show that the faith of our 
fathers, their purpose to have a place for 
'' freedom to worship God," has developed in 
this new century into a purpose in you, their 
descendants, to " keep that good thing which 
was committed unto you." Are we looking to 
the long future of our country, or are we 
making things as easy as possible for our- 
selves, thinking only of how to slide along 
without "bother".? 

After this glance at the nature of patriotism, 
we pass to a rapid review of certain prac- 
tical duties which the patriotic spirit com- 
mands. 

1. We start with fundamentals. What sort of 
houses shall our fellow-citizens live in? 
Do you say, " That is none of my business ? " 
Tenement-house reform is your business, be- 
cause it has to do with the development of 
citizens; a part of your civic duty, then, is 
to see that your neighbor's house is built ac- 
r 130 1 



I^atnotijsm and €Mc ^\xtt 

cording to law, and that the street cleaning 
department does its proper work in front of 
your neighbor's door. 

S. What kind of public schools shall be 
maintained? What are you doing to se- 
cure sufficient accommodations for all the 
cliildren of your city? Do you know any- 
thing about the intellectual equipment or the 
moral character of the instructors in the city 
schools ? 

3. What are you doing to aid in establish- 
ing parks and playgrounds ? 

4. Do you know anything about child labor? 
This subject is being investigated, and we 
are having more and better laws governing 
the life of child operatives in mills and in 
mines. 

5. What interest do you show in the public 
temptations that surround the young? What 
necessity is there for restricting saloons? 
Have you shown public interest and entered 
protest against deterioration of standard in 
the theaters? Do you attend questionable 
plays? Do you countenance doubtful show- 
dances in private parlors? 

In connection with a general loosening of 
[131] 



%i 31 wtn gott 



moral restraint, we may notice, in passing, 
that there is a spirit of lawlessness as to 
common public proprieties ; decencies in street 
cars ; accumulation of street refuse. 
Do you report misdemeanors — such as carry- 
ing lighted cigars in street-cars, throwing 
papers into the gutters, and other violations 
of the rules made by the Health Department 
for the safety and cleanliness of the pub- 
lic? 

Space fails to more than mention other topics 
for consideration. 

6. Capital and Labor. 

7. Public opinion — how to develop it : classes 
for the study of the city's needs; schools of 
philanthropy. 

8. Women and the ballot; woman's influence 
for the public good exerted in the home, in 
society, in the club, in her church. 

9. The development in one's self of the senti- 
ment of civic responsibility; the ethical and 
non-ethical use of promises ; borrowing and 
lending ; smuggling ; evading taxes ; use of 
wealth ; making one's will ; " executing one's 
will " while living ; public benefactions. 

10. The larger life of the individual can 

[132] 



^atriDtiiSm anD Citiic ^ut^ 

only be realized through ethical oneness with 
the state. 

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never 

call retreat; 
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His 

judgment-seat : 
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him ! be jubi- 
lant, my feet ! 
Our God is marching on. 

— Julia Ward Howe. 



[133] 



l^ot» to ^tt^t 



We cannot afford to dispense our charities merely 
through the organized channels, giving money and not 
service. 

— ^Felix Adler. 




ROM the Greek we get our 
definition of philanthropy 
— love to mankind ; desire 
and readiness to do good 
to all men. 

It is serious work touching 
a human soul ; often we must stand back with 
hands off, and just stand by in spirit, leav- 
ing the life we love and yearn over to face 
its own problem. 

Of course you understand what I mean. 
Partly it is this: that we older people are 
sometimes prone to Hft too much of life's 
weight from young shoulders, forgetting 
that the laying on of the burden was no 
accident, but a plan for the development of 
fiber, a testing of strength, a gymnasium ex- 
perience of the mental and spiritual life. If 
this be true, then we must not be too swift 
to put props under, or to supply crutches. 
[ 134 1 



J^oto to ^erlje 



In a very real sense, " Every man must bear 
his own burden." 

Rose Terry Cooke, in one of her stories, says : 
" A httle huUsome lettin' alone's 's good for 
grown folks as 'tis for children." 
I may perhaps take this opportunity to urge 
that it is sometimes necessary for women to 
guard against using personal attractiveness 
and power of sympathy to draw out " con- 
fessions." It takes moral courage to prevent 
these " relief measures " — measures some- 
times adopted by more or less weak men and 
women to ease their consciences. Often a part 
of the punishment for weakness, for failure, 
and even for sin should be suffering in silence. 
A coward, who is too weak to bear the 
twinges of conscience, gets relief by " con- 
fession," and receives a non-merited comfort 
from a half-sentimental, semi-saccharine pity 
bestowed in mistaken kindness. Surely it 
should be some part of every life to " know 
how subhme a thing it is to suffer and be 
strong." 

If, on the other hand, we ourselves " say out " 
to a friend something that we shall wish to- 
morrow we had not breathed to any living 
[135] 



9ie 91 wm Pou 



mortal, let us draw the veil, forget it, and 
believe that, if our friend is worthy the name 
of friend, she too will forget. If she does 
not, then we must take the punishment of 
our indiscretion " like a man." 
At the present day, we are relegating to 
institutions our service to our neighbors ; we 
are asking the Society for Relieving the Con- 
dition of the Poor and the Associated Char- 
ities to do our work. 

This is well ; much of the aid we are to render 
to a suffering world can be done better by an 
organized society than it can be done by any 
one or two people working by themselves; 
and there are services, begun by one person, 
that may sometimes be better carried on by 
another. The Good Samaritan, after taking 
up the man that fell among thieves and plac- 
ing him in good quarters, delegated the per- 
sonal care of the injured man to the inn 
keeper. He remembered, however, to agree 
to pay the bills. He did not say, " Now I've 
done my part; you must do the rest." He 
did not saddle the inn keeper with his private 
philanthropy. Probably the inn keeper had 
his own objects of charity. 
[136] 



I^otw to Gertie 



But we should recognize the dangers, as well 
as the advantages, of delegating our char- 
ities — dangers arising from mechanism, from 
formalism, from lack of individual consider- 
ation. 

Dr. Adler says : " It is not enough, even if 
you, the head of the family, go the rounds 
and visit the poor and come into personal 
touch; it is the connection between family 
and family that will keep us sane. Then, 
when we are tempted to indulge our habits 
of luxurious living, our follies and vanities, 
the knowledge of others' needs will restrict us 
within the bounds of a really fine human 
existence." 

If we are to serve well, we must deal in sim- 
plicity, and be as willing to receive an extra 
service as to render one; but it must be a 
real simplicity. " Simplicity," says Charles 
Wagner, " which is on exhibition, ceases to 
be simple and becomes a pose." 
Perhaps we shall agree that there are at 
least three necessaries in all forms of social 
service: sympathy, humor, tact. 
Francis G. Peabody says : " The problem of 
other centuries was that of saving people 
[137] 



3)f 31 Wm i^ou 



from the world; the problem of the present 
century is that of making people fit to save 
the world ! " 

It is Horace Walpole who tells us : " A care- 
less song, with a little nonsense in it now and 
then, does not misbecome a monarch." 
Perhaps the bit of " careless song " is what 
is most needed in some homes of poverty, 
rather than a dwelling over-much on matters 
of hardness. Surely it is true that salvation 
from discouragement and even despair may 
come from seeing a semi-humorous aspect of 
pathetic incidents. Bunyan says: 

*' Some things are of that nature as to make 
One's fancy chuckle, while his heart doth ache.'* 

As to tact, who shall tell us how to obtain 
it ? Perhaps the " put yourself in his place " 
motto is as good as any; for indeed, this 
is but a homelier version of the Golden 
Rule. 

" The need of the time," observes Professor 
Peabody, " is not so much for better social 
machinery, as for competent social engineers. 
A science of poor relief has been devised ; but 
[ 138] 



fotp to ^tvtt 



where are the persons equipped with the 
sagacity and sympathy to utilize that sci- 
ence? " 

The ward charity organization needs the 
" friendly visitor " ; the headquarters of the 
Consumers' League will set tasks for 
you. 

Or your work may be initiative — your own 
little club for working girls ; your own ar- 
ranging of days in the hospital — for singing, 
reading, telling stories, reciting poetry. The 
various settlements and " fresh-air " socie- 
ties are always needing workers. 
It is possible that you may be called upon 
to do the unpicturesque, but necessary, work 
of serving on boards of direction ; or per- 
haps your social service is with your own 
servants, or in your own church or mission 
Sunday School. 

It is the hand-to-hand work that we must 
not forget. The Man of Nazareth began His 
kind of redemptive service many years ago 
by talking with one here, another there — the 
personal touch; now the woman of Samaria, 
now two disciples on the road to Emmaus, 
now the group in the upper room. 
1139] 



Ci^e jmoml faculty anD 9IDeal 



A peace above all earthly dignities^ 
A still and quiet conscience. 

—Shakespeare. 

You will never think rightly if you are living 
wrongly. 

— G. H. Morrison. 




HEN we enter a great ca- 
thedral by the transept 
door, while we are glad to 
remain for a time in the 
transept itself, enjoying 
the beautiful vaulting and 
the groups of sculpture in that corner of the 
edifice, we are eager to hasten on to the high 
altar and the great central nave, where, be- 
neath the dome, we may feel the grandeur 
and magnificence of the cathedral as a 
whole. 

Is there such a high altar in the edifice of 
ethics? I believe there is, and that we are to 
realize it by realizing something within our- 
selves ; namely, the moral faculty, or what we 
call conscience. 

I shall not stop to enter upon a discussion of 
[ 140] 



the question, brought up by modern psychol- 
ogists, as to the extent of difference between 
conscience proper, the faculty that gives us 
the simple idea of right and wrong, and 
moral judgment, the faculty which endeav- 
ors to decide what is right and what is 
wrong. 

I am trying to keep away from merely scien- 
tiific definitions, and from dwelling over-much 
upon ethics in the abstract, which is what 
Professor Palmer of Harvard calls " the sys- 
temized knowledge of human conduct " ; I 
want not to fail to place the emphasis upon 
morals, or, again to quote Professor Palmer, 
upon " improved performance." 
If, because of my study of ethics, I become 
over-careful as to mere ethical values, the 
precise degree of emotion, for example, which 
I express in meeting a friend who is living 
through a hard experience, she will soon cease 
to care to have any expression of sympathy 
whatsoever from me. We must give room for 
the instinctive play of feeling which springs 
from the heart and reaches another heart, else 
we shall become like the centipede who was 
confused by over-introspection : 
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91f 9! Wm gou 



" The centipede was happy, quite, 
Until the toad for fun 
Said, ' Pray, which leg comes after which? ' 
This worked her mind to such a pitch 
She lay distracted in a ditch, 
Considering how to run." 

I wish I could give you some adequate sense 
of the dignity and the mystery also of this 
inner moral throne. 

Who can fathom the full meaning of that su- 
preme voice within us, which tells us that, 
whatever is decided to be the right thing to 
do, we ought to do? Perhaps at this point we 
come nearest to that in the mind " which," 
as one writer says, " is hke a door to which 
the Deity alone holds the key, and which opens 
out into the Infinite." 

This is what, employing again our illustration 
of the cathedral, we may properly call the 
high altar of ethics. 

Let me suggest a few practical questions con- 
cerning the difference between absolute and 
relative right : 

May an act^ committed at one time without 
violation of conscience, be committed at an- 
other time only by violating conscience ? 
[142] 



What is meant by " We do not judge an act 
by its result, but by the purpose of the 
agent"? 

Why do we say that ignorance is innocent 
only when unavoidable? 

" Ignorance of the law excuses no man " is 
the statement of the civil court. Would this 
be the statement of a moral court? 
May a bad man do a good act ? 
How may we reconcile, " By their fruits ye 
shall know them," with " Judge not, that ye 
be not judged "? 

Do rightness (oughtness) and utility coin- 
cide ? 

What is the difference between a sin and a 
crime ? 

To what extent can the individual conscience 
be taken as a standard? 

Even this brief notice of the moral faculty 
and its applications brings us within sight of 
a moral universe outside of us, corresponding 
to this moral faculty within us; a universe 
governed by moral laws, as truly as by phys- 
ical laws, or by social laws. 



[113] 



JSesipect, mttvmcty miiQion 



Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, 
These three alone lead life to sovereign power. 

— Tennyson. 

A theory of morals is like a house by the roadside, 
where one may rest securely for a night, but which is 
not the journey's end. Ethics is a sign-post on the way 
to religion. 

— Francis G. Peabody. 




HAD always been ambi- 
tious to care for " sick 
folk," to drive away head- 
ache, to bind up a sprained 
wrist, to soothe people to 
sleep. 

I remember what a choke came into my throat 
when, as a girl of fifteen, I was asked to " sit 
up " with a dear old neighbor who was dying 
of blood poisoning. It was hard to get nurses 
in the country, and neighbors offered help. 
The choke in my throat was caused by the 
sense of being trusted to care for a very sick 
woman. It was a terrible night. The dear 
lady was in delirium for hours. A kind of 
pride, mingled with sympathy for the family, 
prevented my calling to my aid any of the 
[ 144 ] 



m^ptct, mutzncty Keligfon 

worn-out watchers who were sleeping the sleep 
of utter exhaustion upstairs. 
That February night, from ten o'clock until 
half -past five in the morning, seems to me now 
to have been a night of maturing thought in 
my girl life. Scripture texts came flooding my 
mind, when it seemed as if I could not control 
that sick woman another moment : " As thy 
day thy strength shall be." " Bear ye one 
another's burdens." " Even Christ pleased 
not himself." " Not to be ministered unto, 
but to minister." " Inasmuch as ye have done 
it unto one of the least of these my brethren, 
ye have done it unto me." 
I remember that I prayed in an agony: 
*' Lord, if only thou wilt help me through this 
night, I will serve better than I have ever 
served before." 

The patient's dehrium of the night gave place 
to the lassitude and weakness of the morning. 
I went home as the stars were fading, and the 
first faint traces of coming dawn were ap- 
pearing in the east. I felt as if I had been 
long fasting, and then had partaken of the 
Holy Sacrament. 

" Partaker of His sufferings, partaker of His 
[145] 



gif 31 ^ete gou 



sufferings ! " kept singing itself over and over 
in my brain. " Life translated as service — 
service — service ! This gives abiding joy ; this 
and nothing else." 

So ran my girl thought. A kind of solemn 
baptism of the spirit was given as the fruit 
of that experience. The desire to be my best, 
for the sake of power for good, grew out of 
that winter's night watch. 
This early incident, as I have recalled it, il- 
lustrates for me the primary value of the sen- 
timent of respect, respect for one's own best, 
as related to the cultivation of respect for 
what is best in others. I want, therefore, to 
make a plea for a respect approaching rev- 
erence, as related to one's own higher im- 
pulses, and a similar reverential respect for 
the experiences that lead to nobler pur- 
poses. 

The quality of reverence is here considered 
not merely, or mainly, as a sentiment of re- 
ligion, but as a constant undertone of feeling 
towards our work and towards society round 
about us. I very strongly feel that reverence, 
in its finer and higher and maturer forms, 
cannot be secured as a permanent possession 
[146] 



except through the cultivation of a general 
spirit of respect — respect for the past, for 
law, freedom, truth, faith. 
First, then, as to our attitude of reverence 
towards ourselves: 

It seems to me, as I have watched life among 
women, that there is often too much freedom 
among them, too httle concern about intrud- 
ing upon the privacy and the solitude which 
should be a necessity to every life. 
The old saying, " Familiarity breeds con- 
tempt," is true of the relation of woman to 
woman. You meet people who fail to ap- 
preciate your point of view about these 
things ; but I verily believe that your frank 
statement, " I just have to be alone with my- 
self sometimes," will serve you well. 
It is in your hands as young women to 
prevent and, if need be, to resent intrusion. 
No one should feel privileged to rush into 
your room without the ceremony of a rap ; to 
borrow your traveling bag when you are 
away; to seize upon a new object and ask, 
" Where did you get this ? What did you pay 
for it ? Who gave it to you ? " 
I recall the way in which a quick-witted little 
[147] 



gif 91 wm pou 



friend of mine met the intrusiveness of an in- 
quisitive woman, who said to the child, " Peo- 
ple are asking me when your sister is to be 
married, and I don't know what to tell them." 
The child replied as she walked away, " You 
might tell them you don't know ! " 
It is also for you of this present generation 
to frown upon over-affectionate demonstra- 
tion in public places ; to hold a personal sep- 
arateness, which is as far from prudishness 
as gentleness is from weakness. It is forever 
a woman's privilege to be gracious, tactful, 
winning ; all this she may be without sacrific- 
ing one jot of that womanly reserve both with 
men and with women, which is the unmistak- 
able mark of the lady, the mark of fine breed- 
ing, the mark of delicate feeling. 
This brings us directly to our second prac- 
tical application — our attitude towards social 
custom. 

That which we call " social custom," really 
represents, in its finer and more permanent 
forms, the slow approximation of many gen- 
erations towards a way of conducting life, 
which shall, on the whole, be safe and just and 
beautiful. 

[ 148 ] 



Kejspect, Mtttvmct, KeUgton 

A certain degree of conventional restriction 
is a necessity in this hurried American life of 
ours ; otherwise nervous energy is wasted, 
time is frittered away, and the proper per- 
spective of life is lost. 

All this has to do with a certain respect, I 
dare call it reverence, for what the world has 
agreed to consider propriety. 
I now come to the last of my three points — 
the sentiment of reverence towards our moral 
and spiritual ideals. 

In this age of " the practical," we need to 
conserve every up-reach of our souls towards 
the ideal, the mystical, the spiritual. 
The dignity of reserve, of which I spoke a 
little while ago, leads directly to the cultiva- 
tion of the highest in us. What we are in our 
hours alone determines what we are in the 
presence of others. 

The great times of growth are hours of 
solitude. You will recall Scripture illustra- 
tions of this : Abraham about to offer up 
Isaac ; Jacob wrestling with the angel ; Moses 
on Mount Horeb; Daniel praying with his 
windows open towards Jerusalem ; of Jesus we 
read, " Rising up a great while before day, 
[149] 



%l 9! Wm gou 



he went out, and departed into a solitary 
place, and there prayed." 
The later psychology teaches that we must 
needs will to be reverent; we must put our- 
selves under conditions to encourage a rev- 
erent spirit; we must allow no vacations of 
the will. We shall never reach the stage where 
the will may be relaxed. Righteousness can- 
not be stored away in reservoirs in such a 
way as to dispense with continuous volition. 
Perhaps we too greatly fear emotionalism, and 
so fail to commit ourselves to stirring occa- 
sions ; perhaps we are sometimes too afraid 
of letting our friends and associates know 
that we are touched by the woes, the cares, 
and the sins of the great world, and that we 
exult in every bit of joy and gladness abroad 
in the land. Surely there is such a thing as 
over-repression, and it is just possible that 
we should more frankly submit ourselves to 
influences that call out our sympathy and 
that demand a reverent permission to the 
heart to have its way. 

I glory in your opportunity to exert in your 

homes the influence of a gentle, balanced, sane, 

dignified womanhood, and also to illustrate 

[150] 



that which the world looks for especially in 
woman — reverence, spiritual up-reach, re- 
ligion. 

And here, perhaps, is the place to introduce 
the single word that I have to say as to the 
relation between Ethics and Religion. 
We may sum it all up in a sentence: if the 
keynote of Ethics is duty, the keynote of 
the Christian religion is love; but these are 
not two, so much as they are one; duty leads 
on to love ; for, as some one says, " the highest 
duty is the duty of loving, while the highest 
love is the love of duty." 

Let us remember those nearest to us — those 
in our own homes. Let us make the people 
whom we love know that we love them — giving 
them loving words and tender deeds now, 
rather than roses on their caskets. 
Let us be infinitely patient. Let us also in- 
quire whether we are daily manifesting a 
spirit of forgiveness towards those who say 
harsh things about us, or whether we are re- 
taliating in words as reprehensible? 
Whether or not we draw a line in an effort to 
mark a boundary between ethics and religion, 
we must believe that this old world is reach- 
[151] 



gif % wzu pou 



ing up ; that men are more fraternal than 
they used to be; that women are more gra- 
cious to those who serve, and to those whom 
they serve ; that both men and women are 
less sordid and more unselfish than of yore. 
We are slowly learning that not theoretical 
arguments for Christianity, but men in busi- 
ness and women in society, pure as light, sym- 
pathetic as love, honest as truth, human as 
Christ, are the means by which this world is 
to be saved. 

Call it ethical or call it Christian, Christ is the 
revelation of what, in some far-off time, all 
may become. 



[ 152 ] 



Happiness is not the end of life; character is. 
— Henry Ward Beecher. 




HAT is the object of all 
study of ethics ? 
In one word, character. 
We have talked of habit; 
habits at last make char- 
acter. We have talked of 
will ; will exercised makes character. We have 
reviewed the round of duties — to ourselves, 
to our homes, to our neighbors, to our coun- 
try; the way we discharge these is an index 
of character. 

Examining the derivation of this word, we 
find that the Greeks used it first as the name 
of an instrument for marking, a tool like our 
chisel; from the same root, we have the verb 
to furrow, to engrave. 

We may then say that one's character is what 
he is by virtue of the furrowing and the en- 
graving made by innumerable little chisel 
strokes of will. 

The " master of the chisel," Michael Angelo, 
[153] 



9If 9! Wm gou 



words this for us in " Trifles make perfection ; 
and perfection is no trifle." 
Accordingly, perfection of character, or any 
approximation to perfection, will not come by 
accident. 

The result of high character is true happi- 
ness. How shall I describe the path between 
them.^ Speaking in the manner of allegory, 
we set out from the town of Character and 
travel the road of what we call commonplace 
duties, until we come to a swift-flowing river. 
Here are bowlders ; but even these have their 
use, for the water, as it rushes on, is dashed 
against these huge rocks, and so obstacles are 
draped in beauty. Wrestling with these, we 
develop strength, and so cross the river by 
the noble Bridge of Power, of which indeed 
the very obstructing bowlders become the 
piers. Then it is that we enter the field o^ 
Happiness. Here we find, growing along the 
riverside, our heartsease and bloodroot and 
forget-me-nots. 

Character, Power, Happiness. Is not this the 
true order of life.^^ 

If we are irritable under disappointment, im- 
patient because people do not do things our 
[154] 



way, cross because the new gown is torn, or 
a maid breaks our finest bit of china, then we 
fail in the occasions that test character, and 
we misuse opportunities that, rightly inter- 
preted, lead to power. 

But if we smile when the heart aches, and res- 
olutely forbid the intrusion of " the blues " ; 
if we attack things that we do not want to 
do, and do them so graciously that no one 
will for a moment dream we do not want to do 
them ; if, when we feel cowardly, we still push 
forward as if we felt brave; then we show 
what the years with their discipline have done 
in leading us to power. 

You will tell me that I am forgetting to be 
considerate of those whose occasional attacks 
of " the blues " are due to nerve debility or 
over-strain. Perhaps I am. I would wish to 
discriminate between such temporary condi- 
tions, which we excuse in ourselves and con- 
done in others, and the fits of depression which 
are due simply to lack of moral backbone. 
But the rule holds : power that abides centers 
itself first in mastery of self. 
Read Mrs. Browning's description of a self- 
controlled woman in " My Kate " : 
[155] 



9!f 3! Wtn l^ott 



She never found fault with you, never implied 
Your wrong by her right; and yet men at her 

side 
Grew nobler, girls purer, as through the whole 

town. 
The children were gladder that pulled at her 

gown. 

Power is not indicated by over-consciousness 
of self. The egoist thinks he does everything. 
I fancy that James Whitcomb Riley had this 
fellow in mind when he wrote " The Tree- 
toad." The toad " twittered for rain all day." 
He " hollered " till he was weary and sick at 
heart, and he thought his throat would burst 
right open at every note; and then, after it 
rained, he addressed himself thus : 

^' But I fetched her! I fetched herf 
'Cause a little while ago, 
As I kind o' set 
With one eye shet. 
And a-singin' soft and low, 
A voice drapped down on my fevered brain, 
Sayin' — ' Ef you'll jest hush, I'll rain! ' " 

The three great roads by which people 

have sought happiness bear these familiar 

names : 

[156] 



1. Epicureanism, by which is meant the in- 
dulgence of all the natural impulses of human 
nature, but in such proportion and modera- 
tion that the total result will be the highest 
satisfaction in everyday hfe. 

An example of this method of life would be 
Alcibiades of Greece, the young friend of 
Socrates. 

2. Stoicism: The theory that, by sacrificing 
the lower impulses to the higher, a greater 
and nobler degree of personal happiness can 
be secured. 

Marcus Aurehus is the classic illustration of 

this. 

The defect of these two methods is the 

omission of the altruistic sentiment and the 

disregard of social obligations. 

3. Altruism: A theory essentially Christian, 
of which the essential idea is seeking happi- 
ness in the service of others ; yet, to serve 
others for the sake of securing one's own hap- 
piness is not altruism. 

Finally, to be happy, one must have faith 
in the reward of effort ; the reward of seeing 
a single life brightened, even for an hour ; the 
reward of receiving another's trust. 
[157] 



31f 91 ^cte pou 



When other avenues towards happiness seem 
blocked by physical or mental obstacles, one 
may rest back in a firm faith, even though it 
may be a half-blind faith, in the moral order 
of the world. 

I can do no better in closing this talk than 
to recall to you again Browning's " Rabbi ben 
Ezra " : 

Grow old along with me! 
The best is yet to be, 

The last of life, for which the first was made: 
Our times are in His hand 
Who saith, " A whole I planned. 
Youth shows but half: trust God: 
See all, nor be afraid! " 



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